


Stillness in Winter

by glasslogic



Series: In Arcadia Ego [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Not brothers, Transitioning Sam, Vampire Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:47:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasslogic/pseuds/glasslogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the world around him gives up its autumn colors and settles down into the long cold of winter, Sam's own body is finally slowing into its own kind of hibernation. Deep in the mountains with only Dean and a broken laptop for company, isolation is their best defense against the outside world during the vulnerability of Sam's transformation. Sam didn't expect becoming a vampire to be easy, but he didn't expect almost a decade of being mind-numbingly bored either. He should have remembered that the world has cures for boredom – and the cure is always worse than the disease.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting for the 2017 SPNJ2BB! Barely, thanks to Comcast and a last minute move, but any posting is still posting. There may be some errors and coding (like masking links) I'll have to clean up later. A shoutout of thanks to the usual suspects, elusive_life and saraid for duty above and beyond in the word wrangling, and crazy kudos to my super talented artist, blythechild - definitely go check out the master art post (http://blythechild.livejournal.com/753549.html) and leave them some love!

[ ](http://s1118.photobucket.com/user/glasslogic/media/3x1%20Widescreen%20banner-stillness%20REVISED_zpstlculkeg.jpg.html)

  
  
The ground shook beneath him, stars wheeled overhead, and Sam opened his eyes in the still darkness of a late fall night.   
  
“Awake?” Dean asked quietly from across the room. Sam considered the question for long, lazy minutes. By the time he decided on a reluctant  _yes_ , Dean had flopped down to sit on the unoccupied side of the sagging, well-worn mattress.     
  
“What time is it?’ Sam asked, stretching out against the twisted bedding with a yawn. The restless glow of dying embers lit the room, but he barely noticed the lack of light, and Dean almost seemed to prefer the dark.  
  
“Night time,” Dean said easily, the same answer he’d been giving for the past few years whenever Sam asked. Sam couldn’t even muster up the energy to be annoyed anymore. Asking was just a holdover from a different life. Sam could tell on his own that it was sometime around midnight, that the waning moon was setting below the peaks to the east.   
  
He didn’t need to see it, he just knew.   
  
Like he knew where the sun was burning over desert sands half a world away, and when it would rise over his own life and push him down into the darkness of inexorable sleep. If he focused on it, the feeling slipped away, something ephemeral that avoided conscious thought. But he still  _knew_.   
  
Like Dean knew.  
  
He wasn’t all Dean was, not yet. Sam couldn’t help his daytime coma, but even at night lately he never really felt awake anymore. Existing in a half-dream, cocooned in the safety of Dean’s attention, and Dean’s reassurances, and the heady, liquid magic of Dean’s blood. Sam looked at the notepad Dean had in hand.   
  
“Groceries?”  
  
“My memoirs,” Dean said, twisting the notepad away as if Sam could catch a peek.  
  
“Anything about me in there?”  
  
“Nothing good,” Dean said serenely.  
  
“Lies then.” Sam yawned again, then rolled his entire body up against Dean instead. He nosed at the ruck of Dean’s t-shirt until he found bare skin and licked a hot, wet strip above the waistband of Dean’s jeans. He set his teeth lightly in the skin and glanced up at Dean from under the unruly fall of his bangs. Dean looked unimpressed.   
  
“That’d be a lousy place. Unless you really dug in. You want to cut me open, Sam? Set your teeth in nice and deep?”  
  
It wasn't the worst idea. Sam huffed against Dean’s skin and flopped onto his back again. “It’s what I can reach.”  
  
“You’re pathetic.”  
  
Well, that was hard for Sam to argue with. Even contemplating just sitting up was a wearying prospect. Dean looked disappointed when Sam remained silent, but not particularly surprised. Sam watched attentively as Dean bit deeply into his own wrist, then lowered it down to Sam’s reach, twisting it to keep the snaking rope of blood from dripping off of his skin. Sam’s tongue caught the first taste between Dean’s fingers and followed it back, licking over the mound of Dean’s palm and upwards until he reached the wound and fastened his mouth over it. Dean braced the notepad on his thigh with his free hand and kept writing for a few minutes, then tapped the top of Sam’s head with the pencil in warning and pulled his arm back. He licked absently over the wound to close it up, then scribbled something else down on the paper.   
  
Sam made a disgruntled sound and slumped back against the mattress. After a moment he sighed and glanced back up at Dean. “You want to add something to your memoirs about getting some apples and picking my laptop up from the repair shop?”  
  
Dean wrote something down. “Are you out of vitamins too?”  
  
Sam shrugged, highly disinclined to move enough to check. Dean rolled his eyes and dropped the notepad on Sam’s stomach, then leaned over to rummage in a basket that sat on the floor beside the bare box springs and battered mattress. He fished out a plastic bottle and shook it, frowning at the faint rattle. “Add them to the list.” The pencil landed beside the notepad a second later, Sam stifled another yawn and dutifully wrote it down. “Also add anything else you think you might be interested in eating,” Dean instructed, still rummaging through the basket. He sat up and grabbed the notepad and pencil back after a moment when it was clear Sam was more interested in twisting the pencil through his fingers than working on the list.  
  
“Food, Sam,” Dean prodded.  
  
“I don’t know.” Sam struggled to a sitting position and pulled one of the blankets over his legs. “Get whatever we usually get. Pasta, dried beans, protein powder, something green, etcetera.”   
  
“What about some candy or something?” Dean asked, writing more things down.  
  
“Candy?”  
  
“You have to eat, Sam. Real food.”  
  
“Sorry, I thought you asked me if I wanted candy.” Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
  
“Something with calories and fat that I don’t have to practically force-feed you. Apples don’t count. Well,” Dean paused thoughtfully, “they kind of count. But only barely.”  
  
A familiar argument. Sam sighed. “I eat, Dean.”  
  
“Not enough,” Dean said bluntly, pinning Sam in place with his gaze.   
  
“I just… you know I don’t get hungry like that anymore. I only want--” His gaze drifted to Dean’s arm again.  
  
“I know,” Dean turned his arm to hide the soft skin of his inner wrist from Sam’s view, “but you still have to eat. Actual food. Anything else?”  
  
Sam tried to focus his attention on something else. He scratched at one stubbled cheek and frowned. “Razors. We’re definitely out of those.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean grabbed Sam’s chin and angled his face up as if appraising the view. “I kind of like the scruffy look.” Sam jerked out of his grip with an annoyed glance.  
  
“I’ll keep it if you really want, but you’re shaving,” Sam said firmly. “I keep getting beard burn in uncomfortable places.”  
  
“It’s my face, Sam. I think I can grow whatever I want to on it.”  
  
“Oddly enough, that was my original point.”  
  
“Whatever,” Dean conceded with a shrug. “Razors for everyone. And food?”  
  
Sam groaned. “I’ll eat whatever you bring me. Just get my computer. And not any more of those protein bars, they’re awful.”  
  
Beneath them, the ground started to tremble again. Sam vaguely remembered it waking him from sleep before, but now it was worse. An ember popped in the fireplace, the snap buried beneath the crash of shattering glass as the plank shelves across the room gave way in the near darkness. Dust started to filter down as the tin sheets of the roof rattled in protest. Sam anchored his fingers in the fabric beneath his hands and closed his eyes.   
  
“Sam?” Dean said, in the overly patient tones of someone who had repeated themselves more than once.  
  
“I’m here,” Sam said after a moment, when the world seemed steadier. He cracked a cautious eyelid, and met Dean’s even gaze.  
  
“Bad dream?”  
  
“I’m awake, Dean.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Dean asked reasonably.  
  
Sam shot him a look. Dean shrugged and went back to writing. Mason jars glinted in the firelight from their shelves across the room. Sam untangled his fingers and surreptitiously shook them out to get the circulation flowing again.   
  
“You know,” Dean said without looking up from the notepad, “I find that when I’m going through something bizarre and unsettling, it’s really helpful to lie about it to the one person around who might have been there and know what it’s like.”  
  
“Screw you,” Sam mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.  
  
“Promises, promises. If only you could stay conscious more than ten minutes at a time. Here,” Dean tossed the notepad into Sam’s lap, “I’m going down to the river to fill up the water jugs for you before I go. Look that over and cross off anything else that you’re going to absolutely refuse to put in your mouth. Feel free to add things too,” he said pointedly as he gathered up the empty plastic gallon jugs from along the far wall and grabbed the pump purifier.   
  
When the door banged shut behind him, Sam looked over the list and groaned. Wondering what Dean’s reaction would be if he just drew an X over the whole damn thing. Except his computer of course. Even the apples didn’t sound that appealing anymore, and they were the only thing he could recall being interested in eating since… summer? Spring? The mountains had smelled like wildflowers. Lilac and iris and late afternoon rains. Or maybe that had been the year before.   
  
Whatever year this was.   
  
Knots twisted in Sam’s stomach when he realized the information really wasn’t there. Did the mattress used to sag this much? How many mason jars were on the shelf? He needed to count them.   
  
Sam made it across the room, but stumbled on the rough planked floor. He reached out instinctively to stop his fall, fingers catching the bare edge of the shelves, but even that glancing touch was enough to bring the unmoored planks tumbling down with him. He'd barely squeezed his eyes shut before the resulting crescendo of falling wood and mason jars pained his ears and probably rang off the surrounding peaks. Kneeling in a field of shattered glass, Sam didn’t bother looking up when the door flew wide a scarce heartbeat or two later.   
  
Dean shoved Sam’s shoes into his field of view, but didn’t comment while Sam put them on and then stood up gingerly in the pile of broken jars. Sam was grateful when Dean continued to say nothing while they made their way outside and Sam stripped, brushing glass shards from his messy hair and shaking out all of his clothes. He didn’t notice when Dean disappeared, and started when warm, scratchy wool was draped over his bare shoulders, cutting the chill of midnight breeze. Dean didn’t ask if he was injured, Sam knew he wouldn’t have missed the scent of spilled blood.  
  
“Sorry,” Sam managed roughly.  
  
“I never liked those jars anyways.”   
  
“Then why did you haul them all the way out here?” Sam asked. But he knew. He knew.   
  
Dean shrugged. He walked a few feet back down the game path towards the river and picked up the plastic jugs that lay where he’d dropped them. He brought them back up to Sam and lined them beside the ones he’d already filled, then gave Sam a quick look over. “I’d ask if you wanted to clean up the glass or fill up the jugs, but I don’t trust you with the glass right now, and don’t feel like fishing you out of the water.”  
  
Sam said nothing, just thinking of going near the river made his skin crawl. It was half a mile away, and he still stood with his back towards it to make sure he couldn’t catch even a glint of running water under moonlight. He couldn’t really argue about the glass either. A surge of helpless, frustrated anger welled up, but almost immediately subsided under the deep lassitude that colored everything these days.   
  
Whatever days these were.  
  
Sam swayed on his feet and Dean wrapped an arm around him. Sam turned to study his face. Years had passed, but it was the same face, line for line, that he’d been looking at since they had met. Time passed around them, but this at least remained constant. He knew Dean’s eyes were green, but couldn’t remember the last time he’d really seen the color. His night vision was good, but limited to greys and blacks and sometimes fades of blue. Firelight wasn’t great for true color either, and with both of them being able to see so well in the dark, they hadn’t bothered hauling up flashlights or batteries, just a small solar charger for his computer. Sam was always surprised at the things he missed, and the things he didn’t. He ran the pad of his thumb gently along the edge of Dean’s jaw.  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow at the scrutiny but didn’t comment. “Ready to go back to bed?”   
  
Sam nodded and dropped his hand. He didn’t protest as Dean ushered him back inside, too tired to even be annoyed. Dean let him slide down onto the edge of the mattress and Sam squirmed until he found a comfortable sag that seemed just the right size. “Are you leaving before dawn?” he managed with closed eyes through the tinkling of glass as Dean swept up the mess.  
  
“Whenever I’m done here. Three days, same as usual.”  
  
“You going to get my computer this time?”  
  
The mattress dipped by his shoulder as Dean settled down beside him again. He carded his fingers gently through Sam’s hair and tucked the messy strands back behind his ear. “It’s been broken for years, Sam.”  
  
Sam stilled and forced his eyelids open. “How many years?”  
  
“More than one? Who’s counting? You won’t remember this conversation anyways. You never have before. By the time I get back, it’ll just be another dream.”      
  
Sam curled up on his side, trying to be bothered by what Dean said, but it just wasn’t coming. Maybe later, when he wasn’t so tired. Dean curled up behind him, fitting their bodies together and for a few minutes the only sound in the cabin was the sifting of ash in the fireplace as the embers burned down.  
  
“I’m cold,” Sam mumbled a brief eternity later.  
  
“Well,” Dean said as he got back on his feet, “I’m not kicking the fire up so it can burn the place down while you’re napping, so you’ll have to make do with blankets. It’s not like the cold’s going to kill you these days.” The messy blankets were tugged abruptly out of Sam’s grip and off the bed, but resettled evenly over his body before he could muster an outraged glare. Dean dragged them up over Sam’s shoulders and rolled his eyes at Sam’s mumbled thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke up twisted in the sheets at some point that could have been minutes or days later. The coals in the fireplace still radiated a dim glow, so he thought maybe not so long this time. He squirmed with the uncomfortable realization that there was definitely one detail he should have taken care of before he found his favorite spot on the mattress. Preferably before Dean left in the first place, because while Sam didn’t really mind the cabin in general, he was absolutely certain the floor was going to give out one day in the pitiful excuse for a bathroom and he’d rather it not happen while he was alone. Or really, at all. Which led to his preferred plan, which still involved moving, but was otherwise superior.

After he was done watering the underbrush from the edge of the porch, Sam gave the itchy spot on his hip a good scratch, then wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes, listening for a moment to the raw sounds of the night unfiltered by wooden walls and his restless dreams. Fall was fading quickly now, soon there would be deep snows in the passes and not a few feet around the cabin. It sounded restful to Sam, but then almost everything sounded restful to him lately. But while he was up… the cabin was freezing. Dean could literally bite him when he got back if he had a problem with it, or even if he didn’t, but for now some more wood on the fire while he fell back asleep would be welcomed. Sam glanced at the neat stack of split logs on the porch regretfully. It would take hours to burn one down, and that seemed like asking for the kind of trouble Dean was specifically trying to avoid. But some smaller pieces that would be mostly ash and ember before Sam was really out, just enough to take the edge off the chill -- that sounded wonderful. The cold might not be so dangerous to him anymore, but it was still uncomfortable.

The only flaw in the plan was that the smaller pieces weren’t on the porch deck, they were up on boards in the porch rafters. Dean didn’t care about the nuisance of putting them there, and he did care about the annoyance of having them underfoot. Sam wasn’t asked for an opinion, but he definitely had one now as he stood on his tiptoes and fumbled blindly with his fingertips for something that felt the right size. Twig, twig… he didn’t need kindling. The coals were still glowing and there were a few sticks by the fireplace. Twig, more-promising-but-still-too-small, twig, Jesus, Dean needed to restock, twig, twig, something fabric, soft and silky with cold. Sam frowned and pulled. The fabric snagged on something, but Sam kept tugging and eventually it slipped free in a cascade of loose bark, sticks, and some decent sized branch sections which he barely managed to avoid as they clattered to the deck. 

Sam’s night vision was preternaturally good, especially on nights when the gibbous moon was high. It was pretty clear what he had in his hand; a heavy coat; dark colored and some kind of fiber fill. Sam sniffed it tentatively and caught notes of wood smoke, sap, and a very faint hint of cologne or aftershave of some sort. Not Dean’s. It was pretty big though, possibly… Sam gave it a good shake to clear any remaining wooden detritus, rammed his arms down the sleeves to dislodge any resident spiders, then slipped it on. If anything, it was a little too big, and not warm enough for the winter snows. But the snows weren’t here yet, and it was definitely warmer than bare flannel. Warm enough for the cabin and warm enough to help him forget to be freezing long enough to fall asleep. Deeply pleased with his find, Sam picked up a few of the larger pieces of wood and headed back inside.


	3. Chapter 3

The world heaved on its axis, and Sam’s eyes flew open in the dim light of dying flames. He gasped for breath and scrambled to sit up, exhaustion weighing on his limbs, a heavy blanket he couldn’t shake off; but still not as heavy as the smothering weight on his lungs that felt like… panic, almost. A nightmare maybe, but he didn’t remember his dreams anymore. Sam forced his breathing under control and rubbed his face with shaking hands. This was new, and new was unsettling. And of course, Dean was gone. Dean, who was steadfast and comforting in his utter refusal to treat any change in Sam’s state of being with more than a shrug and a head pat and casual assurances that everything would be fine. 

His idea of distraction was a pretty great thing too.

Sam sighed and tipped his head back against the cabin wall as his heart rate calmed and sleepiness started to settle back in. He rolled his head and looked towards the fireplace where the last chunk of wood was crumbling on the grate. Soon there would be nothing but embers again. Sam found that an acceptable state of affairs. He was comfortable underneath the blankets and wrapped up in the secondhand coat. His eyes fell closed and he rested for a moment, almost too tired to even slide back down to the mattress. This was how it should be. Sleep until the world changed. Sleep until he changed. Sleep until…

A loud thud rattled the cabin door, making Sam’s heart fly into his throat. He lurched up straight, frozen as his ears strained for further noise. It came again, and then twice more.

Knocking.

Someone was… knocking. On his weathered cabin door in the middle of absolutely nowhere in the mountains at the tail end of a bitter fall. Sam just stared at the door, dumbfounded and utterly clueless as to what he should do. Answer it? Dean would kill him. Ignore it? It was a one room cabin and smoke was rising from the chimney. The door wouldn’t take much to kick in, and anyone who had found it to disturb Sam in the first place was likely to be desperate enough to insist on attention. 

Sam sank back a bit in thought, truly wide awake for what felt like the first time in forever, eyes glued warily to the door. Maybe they weren’t desperate, maybe just curious. And cold. And willing to move on. The knocking came again, echoing through the dark room and settling into Sam’s bones. He could hear low voices through the wall now. No words, but more than one person. They sounded tense. Unhappy. 

Probably not going away. 

Sam drew a deep breath and climbed out of bed. He raked his fingers through his hair to try and tame the mess. He hadn’t seen other people in… years now. Years and years, though the exact count escaped him, blunted and buried by his endless, uneasy sleep. It crossed his mind briefly that it could be Hunters waiting for him out in the cold, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Hunters tended not to knock, and if he was wrong, not answering would hardly hold them at bay. 

There was a shotgun in the corner, Sam moved it to the wall beside the door and lifted the latch. He pulled the door open slowly, one bare foot braced behind it to at least prevent a sudden push, but the people on his porch looked to be unlikely home invaders. Or Hunters for that matter, in his expert assessment after a quick glance over. The unexpected company was returning the favor when the woman firmly shouldered her taller male companion aside and stood squarely in front of him, her flashlight aimed upwards to illuminate the porch without blinding anyone.

“Hi,” she flashed a smile that lit up her face despite the tension of the situation and what looked like more than a day or so of trail dust, “sorry to disturb you, but we’re looking for our dad. He went hiking and was supposed to be home about two weeks ago. We’ve been out here for a few days now and you’re the first other person we’ve run across. So I guess… have you seen him?

“Have I seen your dad?” Sam repeated, still a bit bewildered by this entire turn of events.

“The police poked around the main trail a little, but he doesn’t come out here to stick to the trails. And you’re up here, and look pretty settled, so I was wondering if… maybe…” Her voice trailed off as Sam’s bemused expression seemed to catch up to her. It probably didn’t help that his physical appearance hadn’t really been high on his list of concerns for a while now. He only saw Dean, and Dean didn’t care if he cut his hair with a boot knife when it was long enough to be annoying, or wore clothes that hadn’t been washed in anything but plain river water, or had skin so pale it almost glowed in dim light from the years he’d spent hidden from the sun. It also probably didn’t add anything that it had been at least a week since he’d shaved, or been shaved. It felt like a week from the scruff on his face anyways, the actual event escaped recall. Most things did these days. 

“If maybe I’d seen him,” Sam finally finished for her.

“Right.” She nodded so firmly the end of her ponytail bounced up to lay on her shoulder. Silky brown hair, and clear, earnest brown eyes. Her jacket looked barely warm enough for the bite in the air. “I’m sorry we’ve come so late,” she pressed when Sam said nothing. “I thought it was early enough when we saw the smoke to get here before sunset.”

Sunset had been a long time before. They had some hours still before dawn, but not too many. A hint of disquiet stirred in Sam, but distance could be deceptive in the mountains, and he didn’t feel anything deceptive in his guests. The man stood quietly in the leaves, outside the immediacy of the flashlight his features were blurred, and his silence and stillness felt almost oppressive. But the woman in front of him was anything but still. She was urgency and energy, from the bounce of her hair to the shifting of her feet, hands restless as she talked and eyes tracking Sam’s every move. Her presence was almost overwhelming after so long in virtual isolation.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said finally, “I haven’t seen anyone.”

The shifting stopped and she looked weary, and so tired suddenly. As if the last of her hopes had been pinned on Sam and now there was nothing. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” In the face of her disappointment Sam felt pressed to explain. “I’ve been… sick. I don’t actually get out much.” As if it was a suburban neighborhood and Sam was the local shut-in.

“You’re sick out here alone?” She sounded more concerned than suspicious.

“I have a--” how to describe Dean? “--friend. He’s off in town getting me some medicine. Anyways,” Sam hurried on before she could ask anything else, “it’s a pretty big forest, and there’s a lot of mountainsides and valleys. There’s thousands and thousands of places your dad could be.”

“Yeah,” she glanced off into the darkness, chewing at her lip. “I know, and we don’t know any of it very well. Our grandpa,” her vague hand gesture took in the man who was apparently her brother, “he used to hike out here. Took my dad when he was little. Dad only brought us car camping a few times out in the foothills. Not really ever actually hiking or backcountry stuff.”

Wonderful, way out in the mountains and no idea what they were doing. “Do you have a camp set up? Some place to sleep?” Sam asked. 

“We have some gear.” She shrugged one shoulder drawing his attention to the backpack strap slung there. The backpack it was attached to could not, in Sam’s estimation, contain nearly enough gear for the season, or even more than a night or two. Maybe if it was midsummer. 

But that wasn’t, couldn’t be, his problem. It just absolutely couldn’t.

He stepped back in clear dismissal. “Okay. Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.” And he was, there was something terribly sad about the two of them wandering the mountainside at night looking for their missing father. Or maybe he just sympathized with missing dads in general. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, and a breeze brushed over the thick blanket of leaves that covered the ground, rustling like a sea wave that rolled through the surrounding acres.

The smile the woman returned was a shadow of her earlier effort, but still genuine. “That’s okay. Thank you anyways.” She turned away, shoulders slumped, hunched as if against the cold. Something tight gripped Sam’s heart.

“What are you going to do?” he asked suddenly.

She glanced back and gave another shrug. “Keep looking. It’s our dad.”

“You don’t know the mountains around here, and the weather is going to start turning worse soon. There aren’t even any places to restock on supplies nearby. It’s more than two days hike from here to any road access, and further to any town. You guys don’t look equipped for the long haul.” 

“Thanks, but you don’t need to worry about us. We can take care of ourselves.” She nodded politely and stepped off the stairs, turning the flashlight beam to the forest floor and plunging the porch into darkness.

Sam took a step after her. “Look, at least… do you know the general area he was in? Maybe if it was a place he visited before he gave you some kind of description?”

She was just a dark shape now, a deeper shadow against the black and the flashlight loose in her hand illuminated nothing but her boots and the bottom of her pants. “Sure, kind of. I mean I guess. He’d tell stories sometimes.”

“You don’t know the area--,” Sam sighed inwardly, Dean was going to read him the riot act when he got back. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just let this go, but he couldn’t, “--but I do. Maybe if you describe the place he liked to go I can help you at least narrow down your search.”


	4. Chapter 4

Kate, in consultation with her otherwise silent brother, Kevin, was able to come up with more than a dozen vague and individually useless descriptors of the area her dad liked to hike in, but all together Sam though he had a pretty good idea of where it had to be. Explaining where that was exactly proved to be more challenging. He hadn’t learned the area with anything as convenient as a map, and he wasn’t sure that things that seemed distinctive to him would stand out as well to people not familiar with the terrain. 

Kate frowned, hunched on her heels and hugging her arms around her knees as she stared intently at the dirt where Sam was trying to sketch out a map of places he thought they should check. Neither of his visitors had anything to write on with them, and Dean had taken the only notepad Sam had with him to town. “So… three valleys over, and then a little north?” she asked.

“No,” Sam frowned and made a new mark, “three valleys over, then east, then you climb up what’s hopefully a dry waterfall this time of year, the scramble isn’t too bad usually. Then you turn a little north to cross through a boulder field on the shoulder below the peak. That should take you a day, most of it up in the boulder field, maybe two if you get turned around. If the snow isn’t too bad up there, I’m kind of surprised we’ve not seen any here yet. Otherwise you have to hike almost a week on foot to circle around through that part of the range at a lower elevation. The terrain might be easier if you hike out and drive to the northern side, but you’re looking at probably more like ten days to hike back to the interior of this area, plus the hike out time.” 

“Okay. So that’s the only thing that’s going to look like that though, right? There’s not like there’s a bunch of waterfalls to choose from?”

“If it’s a waterfall right now, you’re screwed and have to back out. I think. There may be other ways up I don’t know about. It should just look like a steep slope of tumbled boulders and ledges.”

“Not at all like any other slopes of tumbled boulders and ledges,” Kate said, deadpan.

Sam sighed and looked up, squinting against the beam from the flashlight. Kate hastily turned it away. “How much hiking did you say you’d done?”

“Some. With friends. And my Girl Scout troop.”

“The troop you lead on rugged high mountain adventures?” Sam asked hopefully.

Kate looked apologetic. “I went to camp a few times in Maine when I was a teenager, I learned how to sew and got a badge for archery.” Her lips twitched at Sam’s expression. “We’re really not hopeless in the woods, Sam. Just usually not in this kind of backcountry. We found you, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” Sam’s smile was a bit weak, just imagining how this could have gone if Dean had been home. “Good job.” 

Kate’s answering smile was steady, but colored with sadness. And why shouldn’t it be? Her father had been lost in the mountains for the better part of a month. Even if he was still alive he would be in terrible shape, otherwise he would have rescued himself. Kate and Kevin seemed scrappy and determined, but they were woefully unprepared for the mountains in winter, and even if by some miracle they found their dad, he would be either dead or probably well on his way to it.

He looked down at his own rough sketch of the region, at the area he thought them most likely to find their dad. A day, at most, if they went directly there. Or a night. 

Maybe six hours until dawn. 

It would be a rough trip in the dark for Kate and Kevin, but the terrain wasn’t too treacherous, and most of the underbrush had died down for the year.

Dean was going to absolutely kill him.

“Hang out here a minute. I need to get my boots.”


	5. Chapter 5

In the end he grabbed his boots, his gloves, the shotgun and a strap to carry it with, a handful of shells he stuffed in his jacket pocket, a bottle of water that hooked to his belt, and the last three protein bars from the basket by the bed. They were revolting, but counted as food. He could sleep, but felt oddly enervated and wasn’t having to struggle much to stay conscious. Maybe part of his problem had been boredom.

He couldn’t wait to share that theory with Dean. 

Neither of the siblings objected to setting out in the dark. Sam had mumbled something about being allergic to sunlight, severe burns, etcetera, and both siblings had nodded seriously. Kate had relayed a somewhat horrifying story about a girl from their town who was allergic to water, next to which they seemed unimpressed with whatever problem Sam had. Convenient. Sam assumed they’d planned to camp nearby after investigating the cabin, but they hadn’t looked anything but relieved when Sam said he would show them where he thought they should search, but only if they left immediately. Kate had actually given him a quick hug, gentle pressure around his ribs and the scent of some commercial shampoo in his nose. It felt good. Something tight in his chest unclenching. He needed to do this, needed to help. He zipped his coat up and led them into the forest. 

It should have felt weird, leaving the cabin. He’d wandered the range with Dean for years, but the last time had been… a while ago, and now he was doing it alone. Or with strangers, which was probably worse. It didn’t feel that way though, this felt right. And it wasn’t like he would be gone for days. Just a few hours to get them on track, and then back to the cabin and the old mattress that sagged just right, before the sun rose. 

Before Dean came home.

Maybe a little more than a few hours. Sam swallowed back nausea and turned his head as the river came into view around the ridge as they descended towards it, flickering silver in the moonlight through the bare trees. Only the pines still kept their green, most of the canopy wide open and waiting for the snow. Sam staggered on a loose rock and grabbed hold of an exposed root to check his balance on the hillside. Kate was at his side between one breath and the next.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” Sam said shortly, gaze still averted from the river, just wanting to be past this area and onwards.

“You said you were sick?”

“I’m fine. Not that kind of sick.”

“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want a flashlight?” She held hers out, but Sam waved it off. The meager light didn’t do much more than damage his night vision. 

“I’m sure.” 

Katie picked up on his mood and Sam could feel her hesitance before she spoke again. “It’s a lot flatter down there, might be easier walking.”

“This is good.”

“But--”

“It’s the river,” Sam felt forced to admit after a moment, there being no obvious reason to ignore her suggestion. It would be easier, and faster, to go along the banks. He just couldn’t do it. “I don’t like the water.”

“Oh,” she said, as if that was a perfectly sane reason to drag two people by flashlight across a trackless hillside in the middle of the night when the river was smooth and flat and there was a good thirty yards past its banks of perfectly clear, even ground they could have crossed instead. “Well, this is good then.” She smiled encouragingly as he stood back up. “Thank you for this. All of this.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam said, relieved she wasn’t going to pry. “The next part’s a little easier.”

She shrugged. “Lead on.”

A strenuous hike, but not one unreasonably difficult. And Dean had been saying he needed more exercise, but he was starting to sweat, and the sweat was making the rash he’d picked up itch. It was just patches in a few places, probably due to dry air and rough living, but it was going to make the evening activities that extra bit of special. Since it was too cold to be digging under his clothes, for the most part Sam just grit his teeth and endured. He glanced back to check on the siblings sometimes, but they were always there. Kate right behind him, grim determination and even stride, and back over her shoulder, Kevin, his features obscured by distance and darkness. They had better woodcraft than Sam had expected, to keep up so easily and quietly; he was glad he wasn’t having to drag them. He was on a short clock, and time wasn’t waiting for anyone. 

Two hours passed that way, almost soundless but for the rasp of his own labored breathing and the crunch of foliage and forest debris under his boots. Kate and Kevin uncomplaining company trailing at his heels. 

“Sam?” Kate asked quietly, eventually coming up on his side.

“We aren’t there yet,” he said with a breathless curve of his mouth. Maybe Dean was onto something with the exercise thing. 

“It’s not that, it’s…” She looked uncomfortable.

Sam stopped walking. “What?” 

“You know this area and we don’t, but you said three valleys and then east, and we did one valley and now we’re heading kind of west. I think. Are you sure you aren’t turned around?”

Sam frowned and looked around.

Kate hurried to press her point. “Only I was watching the compass, and Kevin and I are completely fine with--” Sam lost the thread of whatever else she was saying, distracted with his own thoughts as he looked around. This wasn’t where he had told them to go, and not where he’d intended to head. It had been the right way… and then he’d been lost in daydreams of leaving the river behind and now they were probably at least half an hour off-course. Sam swore and wished he had a watch. The battery in his had died ages ago, and it had never seemed critical to replace. He was regretting it now, having a vague sense of where the sun was did not really relate to precise timekeeping. Not until it was already on the cusp of too late. “Sam?” Kate’s voice cut into his thoughts. 

“I’m thinking.”

“Okay.” She wrapped her arms around herself and waited patiently. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed at the pounding ache in his temples. He was exhausted, but not really tired. Like he could barely stay on his feet, but in a distant kind of sense. In the immediate sense -- he was weirdly awake. Wide awake. 

He hoped.

And aching. He wanted to be home, curled up where Dean had left him. Where he was supposed to be, not out in the middle of the night. But they needed help, and there was no one else around to give it. He had to help them.

“Talk to me,” he said as he started walking again. Kate caught him in a few steps and trudged gamely along at his side. 

“About what?”

“Anything. Helps keep me focused.” And distracted, hopefully. He tugged one of the power bars from his pocket and peeled the wrapper back. They were unappetizing, but he needed to eat. Especially if he was going to be doing more than just laying around unconscious. 

“My life is boring,” she said promptly, “until we lost my dad. Grew up in a small town. Older brother does ranch work,” she motioned behind them where Kevin was still following, “dad’s a trucker, mom’s a hairstylist. I work at the Dairy Queen. Let’s talk about you instead. What the hell are you doing living out here in the middle of nowhere? That has to be way more interesting than my life so far.”

Sam swallowed a mouthful of the power bar. “It’s complicated.”

“That was a short conversation,” Kate prodded gently after waiting awhile for Sam to elaborate as he worked through his meal.

“Yeah, sorry. Not a good conversationalist these days, I guess.” Sam gave her a tired smile. He stuffed the wrapper in his jean pocket and trudged on.

Kate nodded. Another few minutes passed and Sam paused again, frowning as he looked around the dark mountainside. The moon was starting to set. He would still be able to see, but not nearly as well. And he needed to turn back soon. And they were heading the wrong way. Again. How was that even--

“I collect horses,” Kate offered out of nowhere.

“Horses?” Sam asked, distracted. He glanced over to where she was watching him steadily, thumbs tucked in her backpack straps. 

“Yes. Horses. Ceramic ones. My uncle gave me one when I was five and I’ve been collecting them ever since. Never had the money for a real one, so ceramic is as close as I get. Do you collect anything?”

The interest of monsters didn’t seem what she was going for. Sam wracked his brain fruitlessly for something else. “Uh, no. Not really.”

Kate nodded. Sam started picking a path down the slope. A stray breeze sent leaves skittering over the worn leather of his boots. Sam sighed inwardly. He’d successfully killed a second conversation, after insisting she start one in the first place. It didn’t feel like he’d been out in the woods long enough to have lost all social sensibilities. 

“My, uh, friend though,” Sam tried to contribute awkwardly. “He collects mason jars.”

“Mason jars? Like for canning?” Kate asked, seemingly eager to grab the rope. Maybe eager to have something to do other than dwell on her missing father or their crazy midnight hiking adventure. Her brother certainly wasn’t providing much distraction from morbid thoughts. Sam had to keep glancing back just to make sure Kevin was still following.

“Yeah, but not for canning,” Sam said, relieved to find he hadn’t completely lost all ability to just talk to other people. “They sell candy in them, in the place he shops.”

“What kind of candy?”

“Rock candy and mints, mostly.”

Kate made a disapproving kind of sound. “Does he know he can just buy them by the flat and skip the whole diabetes thing?”

Sam’s laugh cut off abruptly as he lost his footing in the deep leaves and almost went down again. “Yeah,” he said when he was back on firm ground, “it’s not really about that.” He looked back to make sure everyone was accounted for, and found Kate practically his heels and Kevin not much further behind. “Watch your steps here, there’s some loose rocks under the leaves.”

“Got it.” Kate’s tread didn’t waver and she reached his side without mishap. “What’s it about then?”

Sam watched until Kevin caught up with them. “What?”

“The mason jars, you said it wasn’t really about buying them, or the candy. So what’s it about?”

Sam looked around and swore, disgusted. 

“What’s wrong?” Kate asked sharply.

“This isn’t where I wanted to be.”

“So we backtrack?”

“I thought we were backtracking!” Sam raked his hands through his hair in frustration, then screwed the lid off his water bottle and took a long drink. 

Kate waited until he had screwed the lid back on. “Are we lost then?” She sounded surprisingly okay with the idea.

“No. No we are not lost. I know exactly where we are.” Years of wandering the range with Dean had at the least seen to that.

“It’s just… not where you wanted to be?”

Sam sighed. “Just give me another minute.” Kate waited silently. Sam felt restless, wanted to be moving. But not towards the next valley over and the dry waterfall climb. Further down, into the foothills. The lowlands and the river. Sam shuddered and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up beneath his coat. But still, he felt the need to go that way. 

He opened his eyes again, baffled. Why? It was clear, now that he was paying attention. He wanted to go home to his dark cabin and his ancient mattress and wait for Dean. But to do that he needed to help Kate and Kevin find their dad, and to find their dad he had to… go that way. Downhill. 

Sam sank back on his heels, disturbed. It was such a distinct sense, not imaginary, but nothing he had felt before. A new ability? Was this something Dean could do? He’d certainly turned up unexpectedly enough in Sam’s life. Though he’d also explained that away with some minor hacking and a thorough knowledge of the art of credit card fraud. And Sam wasn’t supposed to be gaining abilities, just complications. But he also had the night vision, and Dean freely admitted Sam’s transformation was weird, courtesy of the demon blood that had poisoned his life. Was it impossible he could gain other things too?

He closed his eyes again and thought about Kate and Kevin and their missing father. It pulled again, insistent. And downhill. Sam sighed and stood up. 

“Did you figure it out?” Kate asked from right behind him. Sam spun and almost fell over his own feet. “Sorry,” she said when he was steady.

“Yeah, I figured it out. I… remembered another place like you described. It’s more downhill. Closer.” He hoped. “We should check there first.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

Sam appreciated how accommodating they were.


	6. Chapter 6

“So what’s it about?” Kate asked again after some time had passed. The moon was beneath the horizon now, and Sam no longer had any hope of making it back to the cabin before dawn. He didn’t need to though, he could just send Kate and Kevin on their way and hole up. He’d done it before. With Dean and when it was planned, but it would be fine. 

Probably. 

If it wasn’t, he’d sleep through anything bad and likely not survive to know. Not survive to hear Dean’s commentary on his current state of affairs. A very slight silver lining to the situation. 

“What’s what about?”

“The mason jars,” Kate said. Her voice was even and calm where it drifted up from behind. Sam envied her conditioning, he himself was drenched in sweat, itchy, and half out of breath, even as he knew he would be freezing the second they stopped and wishing for a fire.

Right. The jars. Earthquakes and broken glass and rough scratchy wool over his bare shoulders.

Sam.

“Sam?”

Sam’s eyes flew open, he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped or closed them. Kate was standing in front of him, the flashlight aimed down lighting her features dimly from below. It left her mostly in shadow, pale, with dark, cavernous eyes. 

“Sorry,” Sam managed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Just been awhile since I’ve been out this long.”

“We really appreciate this, Sam. So grateful. You have no idea.” Her voice was earnest and genuine. She reached out with one gloved hand and touched his own. With the freezing late fall air and their gear, scanty as it was, her touch was only a fleeting cool pressure.

“You’re welcome.” He managed a smile.

She smiled back. “Ready?”

Sam nodded and started off. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said a few minutes later. They were drawing closer to the river. Still a ways away though. Still further down the mountain. There was time.

“Sorry, it’s not a secret. Just easily distracted.”

“It’s been one of those nights,” Kate said seriously. Sam glanced her way and caught the edge of good humor in her expression.

“Yeah,” he agreed wryly. “It’s definitely been that.”

“So your boyfriend collects canning jars that he doesn’t use for canning,” Kate prodded. Sam’s heart skipped a beat.

“Boyfriend,” he repeated blankly. 

“Sorry,” Kate said contritely. “I assumed. You live with him out in the middle of nowhere, he’s gone on what sounds like a long trip to get you medicine, and when I asked if you collect anything you immediately jumped to something he collects. It just felt, uh, intimate, I guess?”

“Maybe he’s my brother.”

“Okay… is he?”

“It’s not really any of your business,” Sam snapped, despite himself.

“No, sorry,” she apologized and quickly drifted back a few feet. Silence reigned again in the dark forest. It was an easy silence though, and Sam felt embarrassed more than anything. He didn’t know why the word had bothered him. It was true enough, boyfriend was probably the word most people would use to describe a guy you were regularly, exclusively, sleeping and living with, and not married to. It was just such a strange concept to apply to Dean. 

Left with a dearth of things to do, Sam had thought a lot over the years about their relationship and his role in it. The choices he had made, and the depressingly few regrets he had. His dad was the only genuine loss he felt, and Sam had not been the architect of that estrangement. Neither had Dean, though he was a lot more enthusiastic about the separation. Because he cared about Sam, and Sam’s wellbeing. Because he was his… boyfriend. Jesus. Master almost felt less weird to call him, and it would be a cold day somewhere damn hot before that word escaped Sam’s mouth. 

“What’s so funny?” Kate asked, where she had drawn up beside him again. Sam realized he was smiling and scooted over a little to give her more room on the wandering game trail they were following for the moment. 

“Nothing really. Sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay, this is a pretty stressful situation that you’re trying to help us out with. I shouldn’t have pushed. You were right, it’s not my business.”

Sam waved off her apology. “No, it’s fine. And he is my… boyfriend.” Nope, that wasn’t getting any easier. “Just not used to talking about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I was telling you about the mason jars, so I kind of brought it up in the first place.” He glanced back at where Kevin was trudging along with his own flashlight and raised his voice a bit. “Watch the debris up here, it’s another good place to turn your ankle.” He turned his attention back to Kate. “It’s not that great of a story. Or that long. He had a, uh, significant other, before me. A long time before me actually, that he was really close to. Glass was--” hard to get and special was going to sound bizarre, “--something she really liked. So when he took trips he would always bring her back something. Now he goes to town for me…” Sam shrugged.

“He’s hauling mason jars through the mountains because his ex-girlfriend liked shiny things?” Kate asked a bit dubiously. “I’m guessing that she dumped him.”

Sam’s reflexive smile wasn’t happy. “She died, actually, while he was away.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess that’s… kind of sweet then.” Kind of weird was what her tone said, but she was trying and Sam didn’t mind. She had so little context, it would have probably been just as honest to have flat-out lied. It did sound weird without the rest of the explanation. Without any knowledge of the time involved, the profundity of the loss, of the bond and the transformation. 

Dean was nesting, and he was happy to be doing so. Happy following updated patterns from the only other time he’d done this. Bringing Sam trinkets and baubles like he might have brought for another lover in an earlier age, to keep them satisfied and content while his blood did its inexorable work. Happy with Sam, and their little tattered refuge from the world. 

Desperate for things to work out right this time. 

Really, all things considered, Sam was pretty pleased he managed to limit the nest-feathering to mason jars and sugary treats. One every trip. Every four weeks, like clockwork. Anything more personal he might have felt inclined to keep, and he didn’t want to have a bunch of stuff to worry about when it was time to go. 

Even still, knowing all that he did about Dean and his own situation, here Sam was, wandering through the dark forest with two complete strangers the minute Dean turned his back, like some clueless child in a fairy tale. 

Royally pissed was probably the mildest way Dean’s likely reaction could be described.

“So he brings them for you, but he’s the collector?”

Sam smiled helplessly. Dean was always so ridiculously pleased to show him what he’d brought, even when Sam could barely manage to keep his eyes open and could hardly have cared less. Maybe especially then, considering his general personality. “I guess we collect them.” 

“It’s nice you guys share a hobby.” Her voice sounded sincere, but Sam gave her a suspicious sidelong look anyways and caught her smile. 

“Uh huh.”

Kate let that rest for a minute. “So why are you living way out here in the middle of nowhere again?”

“Maybe less talking for a little while.” 

“Sure,” Kate said, agreeably enough, and then fell back to walk with her silent brother. She was friendly and easygoing, but he didn’t need to be making friends, and talking wasn’t doing as much to distract him from his own problems as he had hoped. 

Alone at the lead, Sam relaxed into that relentless pull and let it guide him onwards. He listened to the low moaning of the wind and the rasp of dry leaves in the odd passing breeze. The soft calls of night hunting birds drifted through the skeletal maze of trees as clouds gradually thickened overhead. The eyes of the occasional nocturnal predator caught at a distance in the flashlight beams, but nothing that was of concern. Sam slipped a few times as the night dragged on. The pathless forest floor was treacherous this time of year, though they followed game trails as they could. Downhill, meandering around deadfalls and boulders. The air had a sharper bite than it had when they left the cabin. It felt like snow. Soon. 

Sam froze as something else pulled at him. Not at all subtle like the tenuous tug he’d been following, but bright and clear as a trumpet cry. It clawed its way forward from the back of his mind. All of his wandering thoughts crystallized into panic. “Kate, I--” he gasped out, and spun around to find Kate practically on his heels, her face twisted in concern.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” Kate asked.

“The sun,” was all Sam got out, spinning again to eye the terrain behind them, looking for a good spot. Any spot. He had minutes. Maybe five, maybe ten. Probably less. It had never come on him so suddenly before. Sunrise itself, sure. But he had known it was close, even if only vaguely. This time he’d been wandering lost in his thoughts and now all he knew was panic. Kate had her hands out, she was saying something. She looked worried, and was gesturing for him to come closer, but Sam’s ears were ringing. He shook his head impatiently and staggered back, needing to see. To get away. Find shelter. 

This was, of course, the exact moment he stumbled into the water.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam woke up. The world was perfectly still. It was also close and wet, pressed against his face; pressed against his entire body, holding him still beneath its dense weight. For an instant it was strangely comforting, strangely right… but then nausea twisted in his guts. He tried to stave it off with a deep lungful of air, but all he got on the inhale was a mouthful of crumbly something and the bright flare of panic arcing through his body. He flailed against the weight pressing down over him and it gave with almost no resistance, letting him scramble free and into crisp, winter air, one arm still tangled in the shotgun strap. He managed to shake it off and make it to his knees before his stomach heaved and he lost what little remained of the last thing he’d eaten, along with enough acid to scorch his throat. His hands hurt, his head hurt, his stomach hurt, and now his throat did too. He was on his hands and knees in a drift of damp leaves, soaking wet and freezing cold, and he couldn’t figure out where he was or how he got there. 

Where Dean was.

He was still coughing, shivering miserably, and wracking his brain for its last memories, when he became suddenly aware of a pair of boots on the edge of his vision and realized that he wasn’t alone. Wasn’t alone in the worst way, because there was no way those booted feet were Dean’s. Sam could feel the stiff press of a knife against his skin under his wet clothes. He shifted, sliding one hand down towards it, trying to hide the movement in an attempt to stand.

“Sam?”

…He knew that voice. Sam groaned and slumped back down, rolling onto his back as it all came rushing back. Dean’s trip. His visitors’ missing father. The hike. The insistent pull of direction, something he could still feel. His decision not to fight it, and then the sun. The river. Just the idea was enough to make his skin crawl and his stomach turn over again. 

Sam barely made it back to his knees before choking out another mouthful of bile. He stayed there, panting, until it occurred to him that his last memories were of the water, and he had no idea where he was. Where it was. Panic flooded his bloodstream again and he staggered up, clinging to a tree and looking around wildly. He didn’t have to look far. Maybe sixty feet away the water was swirling and bubbling as it raced between ice-crusted banks. Sam managed to swallow back the nausea long enough to stagger a few more yards away before doubling over again.

“Sam?” Kate. Her voice was laced with more concern this time. Sam felt distantly sorry for that, but mostly he was preoccupied with trying to breathe and dry heave at the same time. 

“Sam, what can we do to help?”

He shook his head mutely. He could still feel the tugging, like a cord hooked into his sternum, this way. Any way was fine with him, as long as it put the river to his back. He patted down his pockets. The extra shells were gone, so was one of the power bars. Without a word Sam grabbed the shotgun and stumbled the way he was pulled, legs shaky and uncooperative with cold. 

Damp fabric clung to him, but beneath the polyfill jacket he was… not exactly warm, but not freezing either. He was more tolerant of the cold, Dean had said at some point, years ago -- before leaving Sam to sleep for days in a freezing cabin under two quilts and a cotton sheet. It would have been hard to procreate if fledglings couldn’t survive a little periodic abandonment in uncomfortable places. Sam didn’t know how long ago that had been, but had to trust in it now, because he had no gear of his own and the idea of stopping even just long enough to build a fire -- no. They had to go.

Away from the river at the very, very least. 

“What happened?” Sam finally managed to ask, the better part of an hour later, voice gravelly with damage and exhaustion and a day spent asleep beneath the leaves. 

“I’m not sure,” Kate said from her place over his left shoulder. “Not entirely. I knew it was getting close to dawn, the sky was starting to lighten, and we were heading towards the water. But, you seemed to know where you were going--” Sam couldn’t help but snort at that. He’d been quite clearly even more out of his mind than usual almost from the point they’d knocked on his door. Where he was going. Sam wasn’t even sure he knew anymore where he was. 

“Then I heard you splashing, and you were in the water.” She hesitated and Sam felt his mood grow grimmer. “I remember you said you didn’t like it, but you went down and couldn’t seem to get back up. I ran down to help you, but you’d already been swept out in the middle.” Sam’s skin felt like it wanted to crawl off his body. He grimaced and swallowed back another round of nausea just at the idea. Behind him, Kate didn't notice and carried on. 

“The current was pushing you further out faster than we could catch up, and towards the other bank, so Kevin and I jumped in where it looked shallow and ran down the other side to try and grab you. But by the time we found you, you were already out, halfway up the hillside and digging yourself into the leaves. I remember you said you have a sun allergy, and were afraid of the water, so… I thought maybe you were a little stunned. Since you were breathing and leaves are insulating, we just left you alone and waited.” 

Sam, gratefully, remembered nothing past realizing he was standing in the river, much less actually falling in completely and being swept downstream. He was entirely certain that between the river and the rising sun he would have been unable to count to three, much less offer any kind of coherent reassurance to Kate and Kevin. 

“Are you okay now?” 

Sam sighed and stopped moving, taking the moment to scratch at his shoulder. The wind was bitter and cut through his jeans, but his torso was warm enough and his feet were just going to have to be cold and blistered. It wouldn’t be the first time. “I’m fine.” He unhooked the water bottle that remained attached to his belt and forced himself to take several small sips. This was okay water, he told himself firmly. Necessary water, even. Nice and contained, and not any kind of threat. His body was uneasy, but he kept it down okay. 

He rehooked the bottle on his belt and fished the last power bar from a back pocket. He used his teeth to peel off his gloves, grateful they were synthetic, and was just as grateful to discover that the wrapping had held up to the battering of the river. The contents, while somewhat misshapen, were dry and intact. The taste was awful, but would not improve being saturated with river water. 

“I’m fine,” he repeated, louder and more firmly, after swallowing down the first bite. He turned to really look Kate over for the first time since waking. With the moon edging closer to full and high again in the sky, Sam could see clearly. She looked none the worse for wear after a day spent waiting for him. The bright moon light through the skeletal canopy picked her features out in sharp relief and deep shadow. Kevin, as always, hovered a good dozen feet away. If he was troubled by any of the previous night’s events, it didn’t show. A quiet echo of his sister’s energy, a different expression of pain. Of fear that they wouldn’t find what they sought. Sam sighed, feeling lousy to be so preoccupied with his physical misery. There was a reason he was out here. “What about you guys, you okay? Did you eat something, get some sleep? Dry your boots?”

Kate shrugged. “We’re fine. Just waited for you. We’re not complete novices.”

Sam took another couple of bites, then wrapped up the rest of the bar and stuffed it back in his pocket. Eating was a tedious and unappealing process these days, but he was already going to be in enough trouble with Dean without adding blatant neglect of his body to the list of crimes.

“Let’s go then. Should only be a couple of hours.” That last part was more hopeful than anything. He had no idea how long it was going to be, but it had better not be more than a couple of hours because he had to go home. He had to be there when Dean got back. Never mind that he was incredibly poorly equipped for anything more than a brief hike, and couldn’t ask Kate and Kevin to share. They could barely be carrying enough for themselves. But sympathy for someone else’s plight could only take him so far. 

Sam dragged his gloves back on and they hiked on deeper into the forest. Almost paralleling the river and still gradually heading downhill, but with a ridge between himself and the tumbling water, Sam was able to at least focus on his footing and not on the disaster of the previous dawn. 

They pressed on like that for several hours, the shotgun drug on his shoulder, but he’d carried worse for longer. He trudged on, ignoring it. Like he ignored the growing discomfort in his feet, the icy air that ruffled his hair and seeped through his clothes. The moon drifted across the sky, obscured now and then by dense drifts of cloud that brought light flurries. 

They followed game trails when they could, narrow and winding, and walked in quiet single file, lost in their own thoughts. Gradually the terrain grew shallower and there was more room. Kate drew up alongside him. Sam didn’t much appreciate the flashlight beam, but the company was nice. He felt the weight of her gaze several times before she finally gave voice to her thoughts.

“You said you didn’t like the water, but what happened at the river looked worse than dislike. It wasn’t even like you couldn’t swim -- where you went in was only two feet deep. It was like you couldn’t even stand up.”

Maybe solitude hadn’t been so bad. “I can swim,” he defended himself. “And two feet is a lot to stand up in when the current’s bad.”

“I crossed only a few feet upriver after you started washing downstream. It wasn’t that bad.” She frowned.

Sam shrugged, keeping his arms uncrossed and his posture open only with effort. “Something happened a few years ago. Now I don’t really get along with rivers and streams and things like that.”

“Something… like an accident?”

“There wasn’t anything accidental about it.”

“That sounds concerning,” Kate prodded. She obviously caught that he didn’t want to talk about it, but was unable to contain her interest. Which was his fault, he should have just stuck with a near drowning, but he wanted the distraction of her company. And apparently couldn’t control his mouth. 

“It’s not a big deal. Just some questionable decisions I made, and now I have this panic kind of thing.” Also a nausea kind of thing, and a blinding, disorienting headache kind of thing, and a full body-aching kind of thing, and a muscles-locking up and shivering uncontrollably kind of thing. Dean really should have gone into more detail over exactly what kind of issues he expected Sam to develop over the course of his transformation, at some point before those issues surfaced. Sam wouldn’t say that if forewarned about the no running water” problem he would have made a different decision, but he might have been more prepared and less traumatized the first time it had been an issue. 

He also might have insisted Dean find them a place to hole up where he wasn’t faced with an actual full-blown river within sight of his front porch. Dean said it was “scenic,” which just told Sam that Dean was even older than he’d thought, to have forgotten just how horrible the reaction was. 

Kate, unaware of his inner annoyance, was trying to tackle the issue logically. Sam was again reminded, with a surge of guilt, of the whole point of this quest and that he wasn’t the only one probably in need of distraction. “Maybe you could talk to someone, like some therapy?” she finally suggested. “You could have drowned yesterday, it was sheer luck you got swept up by the bank.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not usually in a position where it’s a problem. But I’ll think about it,” he added to forestall any more suggestions. He’d be over it whenever he was done becoming whatever he was becoming. Assuming he survived Dean’s likely reaction to the situation he was currently in. 

The terrain continued to broaden and flatten. Kate and Kevin followed his guidance without complaint. Sam had to wonder again at just how desperate they had to be to follow a total stranger through trackless woods on a late fall night. Miles and miles from any civilization or recourse. But then, he knew that desperation. When he’d been at his most alone and helpless, his father missing and the world turned against him, he’d done much more than just follow Dean. Much worse, a lot of people would say, his dad included. 

Their last meeting was still a bittersweet ache in Sam’s heart, but not as much of an ache as there would have been if it had never happened at all. At least he wasn’t wracked with what-ifs or a sense of abandonment. An open question mark as to the mysteries of his dad’s disappearance. Wondering if there was something else he could have done. 

At least these guys had a place to search.

That tugging sensation in his chest was getting stronger, more solid. Like they were getting close to whatever it was. It had better be their dad, and it had better be soon. Sam couldn’t go another night like this. Physical limits aside, Dean would be looking for him and Sam was genuinely concerned about his reaction to Kate and Kevin. 

Sam didn’t think Dean was going to give a damn about anyone’s missing father.

He felt a light pressure against his arm and glanced over at Kate, who was watching him with a frown. Sam gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and picked up the pace a little. Whatever they were looking for, it needed to be just up ahead.

Time was running out, for everyone.


	8. Chapter 8

By midnight the steep slopes had given way to the gentle downhill roll of an open meadow. The grasses had died down and soon snow would cover it, a pristine white blanket broken only by the tread of the animals that called the wilderness kingdom home. For now though, the dry stubble, and an overhead moon bright and clear with the clouds thinned to mere wisps. The stars were brilliant sparks of light against the fathomless, velvety dark; and so many of them. 

Having lived almost all of his life in urban areas, even after so long isolated to the nights and wilderness, Sam was astounded every time he saw them. Tonight was no exception, but his wonder was buried beneath exhaustion, worry, and trepidation. 

Whatever he was being pulled to, they were almost on top of it. There was no sign of any human activity. About half a mile ahead the forest loomed again where the meadow ended, and even as cold as it was, the air had a heavy, wet smell to it.

“It’s a marsh,” Sam said finally, pausing in his tracks and breaking a long silence. 

“Up ahead?” Kate asked, her voice as smooth and clear as always, like she was entirely untouched by the physical exertions of the past few hours. Sam thought thirty-whatever-he-was was too young to be envious of someone’s youth, but between the burn in his muscles and the rasp in his throat he was definitely feeling it.

“Yeah. Where the trees start. Can you see how they’re different?” He reached for his water bottle and forced himself to take a few long sips. He knew he wasn’t drinking enough, but he was going to have to ask Kate or Kevin to fill it up for him as it was. Rather than dwell, Sam watched as Kate exchanged a look with Kevin, and then shook her head. 

“I can barely see them against the sky. They’re still too far away.”

“Come on then,” Sam said, hooking the bottle back to his belt and starting grimly forward. 

Kate jogged a few feet to catch him. “The marsh? Why the marsh? We didn’t say anything about a marsh when we were talking about places he liked to go.”

Sam shook his head, not bothering to answer. Something was here, he could feel it in his bones. He could no more not have continued on than he could have closed his eyes, wished real hard, and opened them again tucked neatly away in his isolated little cabin with a blazing fire and Dean curled up next to him on the bed. 

“Sam?”

“Let’s go and see,” he managed around the lump in his throat that the idea of being back home had brought up. Almost there, almost. 

The ground beneath his feet was growing heavier, spongier and starting to cling ever so slightly to the treads of his boots. He didn't like it, but the near-stagnant waters of the marsh only made him uneasy. They didn't raise the instinctive revulsion the fast flowing waters of the river did. He kept on, following the insistent pull. 

The damp, organic smell grew heavier, but just before Sam reached the treeline, and the clear divide between dry ground and marsh land grew hazy, the relentless tug vanished. It dissolved as cleanly as if he had never felt anything at all. He stopped in his tracks, nonplussed. Kate stepped up beside him and peered into the gloom.

“Why are we here, Sam?” She looked around, apparently equally at a loss, and fished through the night with her flashlight. The bright slash of the beam found nothing but barren trees and wet. “I thought…” Her voice trailed off on a strange note and she slid the flashlight off, casting the entire scene back into the darkness of nature at midnight, when mankind sleeps far away. 

“Kate?” Sam asked as she stepped past. He started to call her back, not wanting her to wade into the water she was blind to, but before he could speak she said something that froze him in his tracks.

“Dad?” 

Sam stared at her, and then back into the tree line where the ground gave way to watery sludge. There was nothing. Just marsh, and darkness, and the faint haze of mist off in the trees. Kate stepped forward again, closer to the water's edge, Kevin a looming shadow at her back.

“Daddy?” Her voice was so hopeful, so certain, that despite his initial assessment Sam could only try to follow her gaze and find whatever she was seeing in the night. 

It took him a moment, in the palette of greys and blacks and blues, but tracing her line of sight Sam eventually saw it. Even half submerged at the edge of the marsh and twisted in the dead ruin of the meadow grasses, once seen Sam couldn’t mistake the shape of what he was looking at.

A human skull. 

Once he found that, it was easy to see the rest of the twisted jumble of bones, sun bleached and stripped bare. The ruin of a life. 

“Kate…” Sam started slowly, taking a step back. The misty haze wasn’t so far now. It looked heavier, closer. There was a weight to it and Sam wasn’t sure what he needed to be more alarmed by; the skeleton, the mist, or Kate’s bizarre behavior. “Kate, why don’t you come back here with me?” Ignoring him, Kate took another step forward, posture relaxed, flashlight loose in her hand. In profile, her face almost glowed with joy.

“Dad, we’ve been looking so long. The police wouldn’t, but we did, and I’m so glad we’ve found you. We missed you.” She choked on what sounded like a sob. Kevin laid a hand on her shoulder, and there was a glimmer in his eyes too.

The mist drifted closer, a thin luminous haze over the water. A tendril of it curled around the base of a tree near where the water turned to dryer land, and Sam thought it seemed almost… curious. 

He was starting to really wish the shotgun had salt rounds.

“Kate,” he tried again, more firmly, “come over here, please. You too, Kevin.” 

Kevin seemed not to hear, but Kate finally turned, a brilliant smile on her face. She opened her mouth to speak -- and then her gaze drifted over Sam’s shoulder, and her expression dissolved into terror. She stumbled back, her scream deafening in Sam’s ears. 

He was dizzy with a sudden flood of fear. Too much fear, too fast. His mouth was bitter with the metallic taste of adrenaline. He turned sharply, the shotgun in his hands with no memory of reaching for it, expecting anything from a towering grizzly to an actual dragon, and instead found... Dean.

Dean looking tired, and annoyed, and otherwise exactly as he always did. Maybe a little more than annoyed, actually. The fear clutching at Sam’s heart didn’t lessen with recognition, and his whole body vibrated with tension. 

With horror. 

Kate’s voice, shrill with fear, rang in his ears. “Sam! Sam, get away from him!” Sam glanced back. Both of Kate’s arms were wrapped around her brother’s now and they had backed almost to the edge of the swamp beside the pile of weathered bones. Horror was a palpable aura around them both.

“Take off the jacket, Sam,” Dean said evenly. 

“What?” Sam asked, blankly, turning back to face him. As greetings went it was odd. He had envisioned Dean’s likely reaction to his little adventure many times over the miserable hours of the hike, but an interest in his outerwear had not been included. 

“He’s a monster, Sam!” Kate screamed. “He’s going to kill us all!” Sam’s breathing was ragged, all of his senses were telling him that this was Dean. And that Dean was… a threat? To him?

“Your hands on that gun are shaking. Are you afraid of me, Sam?” Dean asked in the same maddeningly even tone.

Afraid of Dean? That cut through some of the panic and made Sam blink. No. No, he wasn’t. There was an entire laundry list of things in the world that Sam was truly, deeply, afraid of, but Dean hadn’t been one of them for a very long time. 

He couldn’t put the gun down though, even as his hands grew white knuckled from his grip.

Behind him Kate sobbed. “Sam, please. Kill him. Before he kills us all. What are you waiting for?”

“Sam,” Dean repeated patiently, “just take the jacket off. Let it go.” His voice was calm, reasonable. Like this was nothing unusual at all, just a normal meeting in a random frozen meadow in the middle of nowhere at midnight. Complete with guns, screaming bystanders, and skeletal remains.

“Sam,” Kate begged from behind him, tears thick in her voice. “Sam, please!”

“Sam.” Dean drew his attention back. Dean, who seemed as comforting and solid as Dean always did. Who didn’t even glance at Kate, and looked like he would wait forever for Sam to decide what to do. As he'd waited once before. Seen that way, it really wasn’t much of a decision. Sam didn’t know why he was hesitating. 

He didn’t know why he did anything lately. 

“Sam!” Kate screamed again as Sam dropped the shotgun to the ground. His fingers, clumsy with cold and nerves and gloves, fumbled with the heavy zipper on his coat. He ripped it open and shrugged free of the suddenly stifling fabric. 

The instant it slipped from his fingertips, Kate and Kevin vanished like the snuffed flame of a candle. 

Dean remained, and the luminous fog that curled around the trees at the edge of the swamp, that odd press of curiosity. 

And the skeleton, sad and solitary at the edge of the marsh.

Sam wrapped his arms around himself in the freezing air and stared down at the pile of crumpled fabric. Crumpled fabric that was suddenly, horribly, familiar. Because he’d been looking at it for hours on the trail. 

Kevin’s jacket. 

Sam felt like a haze had been cleared from his mind. A moment later he felt the warm, familiar leather of Dean’s coat drape over his shoulders. Sam almost shrugged it off, as he put two and two together and came up with some very ugly answers.

Ugly, predictable answers. For a certain frame of mind.

“You killed them.”

“Yes.”

“Jesus, Dean,” Sam’s laugh held a wild edge in the wet, freezing night. “Not even going to bother to deny it?”

“I’ve never lied to you,” Dean said with that same tone of endless patience. “A little misdirection maybe, but not outright lies. Not really. Seems stupid to start now. They came to the cabin the fall before last. An hour or so before sunset. I didn’t care what they wanted. They found the cabin. They weren’t lost, they knew where they were. They knew where you were, and they could have come back. They could have told others. Even just some casual barroom chat about that weird place way up in the middle of nowhere could have been enough. You aren’t safe when other people know where you are, Sam. So yeah, I killed them. I don’t screw around where your life is concerned.” 

Sam turned on him, furious and blinking back tears as exhaustion and frustration and anger snowballed on him all at once. “And what about their lives?”

“What about them?” Dean asked, unimpressed. 

“Their lives have meaning, Dean!”

“So does yours.”

“Not more than theirs,” Sam said flatly.

“It does to me.” There wasn't an inch of give in the lift of Dean's chin.

Sam looked at him helplessly. “She served ice cream at a Dairy Queen. Her brother worked on a ranch. These are real, actual people. Have there been others?”

Dean didn’t bother to act confused about what “others” Sam was referring to. “Since when?”

“Dean!”

“There was that little matter of having to rescue your ass from demons that one time. We racked up a body count there, you might recall.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Those were demons.”

There was nothing genuine about Dean’s smile. “And you only care about humans?”

“Humans are different.”

“How?”

“They aren’t demons, Dean.”

“You say potatoes…”

Sam stared at him. Overhead, more flurries began to drift down from the clouds that had started to roll in. “You can’t be serious.”

Dean shrugged. 

“People, Dean. Human people,” Sam ground out. “Have you killed any other people because of me?”

Dean sighed. “Sam--”

“No,” Sam cut him off. “I just -- I just have to know. Tell me now and I’ll, I don’t know. I’ll handle it. But I have to know. You said you never lie to me. Don’t lie to me now. Please.”

“No one else has found the cabin.” 

“That isn’t a no.”

Dean’s gaze was considering, after a moment he shrugged. “A couple of years ago there was a hunter asking questions in town.”

“About me?”

“Close enough. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

Sam swallowed hard and tightened his arms around himself. That was probably more legitimate, it was certainly easier to live with. Hunters had tried to kill him before. 

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was gentle again, reasonable. “You know what I am. You’ve always known what I am--”

“Not always.”

“Almost always, then. You’ve known what I am, and you know what I’ll do to protect you. You need that protection right now. We’re up here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere so that you’re safe while things happen. So that I can keep you safe. And I’m sorry that some random strangers tripped over you. I really am, but—”

“You aren’t.” Sam interrupted, the cold running deeper than skin. “You don’t care at all.”

“I do, Sam.” Dean sighed. “Believe that if nothing else, I care that it upsets you and now I’m going to have to hear about it.” Sam’s look was withering. “But I care anyways,” Dean continued, the first hint of exasperation edging his voice. “My kind, our kind, aren’t some plague on humanity. We live and let live and want everyone to do the same. I don’t just slaughter random passersby because I think it’s a fun game, and you know that or we wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.” He pinned Sam in place with a sharp look. “You do know that, right?”

Sam nodded, if a bit reluctantly with Kate’s bright fear still fresh in his memory. 

“Okay, so -- good. I’ve done everything possible to stick you someplace people were pretty damn unlikely to find you. And in eight years, guess what! No one did. Until two years ago when some guy went missing and his outdoorsy family decided to comb the wilderness looking for him. Full points for family caring, negative infinity for lousy timing.”

“Did you feed on them?” Sam asked tightly. Because if he had, if he’d ripped open their throats and swallowed their blood, then Sam…

“Yes,” Dean said without a shred of guilt. Sam slashed him a dark, hurt look. “Waste not, want not, Sam. They weren’t going to need it anymore. I did. You did.” 

Sam had nothing to say to that. He couldn’t stand to look at Dean any longer. Instead he turned his gaze to the fog that was slowly roiling closer. 

“I won’t not protect you, Sam.” Dean’s voice was low and just over his shoulder. Sam nodded, exhausted. He knew that. He just couldn’t see Kate and Kevin as threats. But Dean hadn’t seen a chance encounter as a threat once before, and a woman he’d loved had died. Sam could be furious about Dean murdering hikers, and still understand why Dean had done it.

Why he would do it again.

Sam wondered how much of his own humanity was really left that even the effort to stay angry or upset seemed like more than he could manage. Everything felt like a lot suddenly, too much to deal with. Too much to think about. He watched the edge of the fog brush against his boot and recoil, only to brush it again more cautiously. Tentative. Where it lingered against the hardened leather his skin started to tingle beneath. Sam knew he should feel something, but alarm was like cold molasses in the back of his mind. Thick, and slow. Cooling his blood with it. His thoughts. 

The jacket was helping with the temperature, but Sam could feel himself sinking fast as the heat of anger and panic were guttered by lassitude and exhaustion. “What is it?” Sam heard himself ask as if from far away.

“They have a lot of names. The one you probably recognize is will-o’-the-wisp.”

Some renewed interest flared at that, and brought a spark of energy. “What’s it doing here?”

Dean’s arm wrapped around Sam’s waist and though the temptation to throw an elbow was great, Sam let himself sag into the half embrace. “It lives here, in the marshes. Far away from all your precious humans.” 

“Not all of them,” Sam mumbled, gaze drifting to the half exposed skeleton at the edge of the marsh, the mystery of what had happened to Kate and Kevin’s missing father explained at last.

Dean nosed against the cold bare strip of skin behind Sam’s ear. “You like to define evil based on what eats humans, and what doesn’t. That’s not very fair. Nature’s a bitch, Sam, but the lady’s got a system and the system says everything’s got proper prey and proper predators. Humanity’s general desire to act like they are the lords of the universe doesn’t make it true. People wandering alone in lion country figure that out fast. Is the lion evil just because dinner has an iPod and the latest in designer jeans?”

“That is not a lion, Dean.”

Sam felt Dean shrug where he was pressed against his back. “It’s not any more evil than one. Or unnatural, really. It was hungry, so it found something to eat, and one solitary hiker vanished quietly from the world. Really, I’d think you’d appreciate how economical it is. Will-o’-the-wisps only feed every dozen years or so on average, and this one’s eaten pretty recently.” 

“It showed up awfully fast for something that’s not hungry.”

“Well geez, Sam. So not just people-eating, but curiosity’s a crime now too? They’re simple, not stupid. It’s probably never felt anything like you before.” The tendril of fog drifted higher on Sam’s leg, the cool, tingling touch brushing now above his knee, and the places below numb from more than just cold. Sam tensed and tried to pull back, but Dean’s embrace was immovable. He kept Sam firmly in place even as he moved his focus and the wet heat of his mouth to just beneath Sam’s ear, seemingly oblivious to the monster wrapping Sam slowly in its grip.

“Dean,” Sam hissed urgently when the tendril reached mid-thigh and Dean still showed no apparent interest in anything but mouthing gently over Sam’s increasingly frantic pulse.

“Chill out. It doesn’t know what you are, it's not going to find you appetizing. They only eat humans, and you're too far from that now. Give it a minute to check you out and it’ll get bored and go away.”

“Before or after it takes a bite out of me?” Sam demanded. 

“It’s more of an absorption process,” Dean said, voice somewhat muffled by Sam’s skin. Sam hissed in outrage and tried to wriggle out of Dean’s hold, and got the sharp scrape of teeth over his pulse for the effort. As a threat, it wasn’t terribly effective. As a distraction… other parts of Sam took a distinct interest.

Too much interest, when he was freezing cold, hours from home, and being maybe eaten alive. Sam put his foot down. “No. No, we aren’t doing… whatever this is. Let me go, Dean.” Dean obediently released him and Sam tried to step away, but the leg the monster had been wrapped around wouldn’t respond as he expected. He ended up on his ass in the freezing mud, snowflakes swirling down around him as he stared very hard at the toes of his boots and thought unflattering things about Dean in particular, and his own life in general. Fortunately, his fall seemed to have startled the will-o’-the-wisp, which recoiled at the sudden movement and withdrew a sulky dozen feet or so until it hovered over the water again. At least something was behaving as it should.

“I think you hurt its feelings.”

Sam expression was mutinous. 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked gently. At that Sam deflated a bit. It was tempting to just kind of collapse flat on the ground, but that way lay even more mud, and wet, and cold. It probably wouldn’t be worth it. 

Probably.

“Am I okay?” Sam echoed. “I’ve been on a two night hike through the middle of a frozen forest accompanied, apparently, by the ghosts of a couple of people you murdered, on a urgent quest to find their dad, who it turns out the local swamp monster ate a couple of years ago. I don’t even remember what it’s like to be warm, the only thing keeping my eyes open is being pissed at you, and everything I’m wearing is soaked in water from the fucking river I fell in when I was ambushed by sunrise. I’ve got more blisters than skin on my feet, courtesy of almost drowning. Plus you just let something try to eat me, and now I don’t even know if I can walk out of this death trap. So no, Dean, I’m not really feeling that okay. How the hell are you?”

“Well, I don’t know, Sam,” Dean called casually as he walked over to pick up the discarded shotgun and hung it over his shoulder. “I left my more-or-less helpless lover asleep in a secure area while I went for my monthly trip to town so that I can, you know, feed him, and then came home to find that instead of curled up in bed waiting for me, he’d taken off with a shotgun and not a whole lot else, to do god knows what, in the middle of that frozen forest you mentioned. And then when I finally run you down you’re soaked to the bone, waving the shotgun at me, and talking to yourself. Except no, wait -- it’s worse! You’re actually talking to the ghosts of people I killed in self-defense a couple of years ago, who are apparently possessing the crap out of you and have dragged you all over the countryside on some kind of fool's errand. So all in all I can’t say I’m having a fantastic time of it either. You want to get off your ass and go home, or do we need to ask the wisp what of kind of night it’s having too? They’re not real talkative, but I’m game if you are.” 

Sam resolutely ignored the will-o’-the-wisp, which seemed to have decided that they were as uninteresting as Dean had predicted and was withdrawing further away into the marsh. Sam was not at all sorry to see it go. He gave his toes an experimental wiggle to see if all the feeling was back yet or not. Everything seemed to work, but he hadn’t been kidding about the blisters, or the exhaustion. Hiking in his wet boots earlier he’d been distracted by the insistent pull, and the quest, and his urgency to get it over with so he could head back to Dean. And apparently at least a marginal case of possession. But now all of that was gone, and off his feet for a few minutes they were definitely letting him know how badly they’d been abused. And how little they were interested in putting up with more.

“I don’t know if I can walk back,” Sam admitted reluctantly. Dean held his hand out.

“Why don’t we see about getting you back on your feet first, and go from there.” Sam nodded and grabbed hold. Dean hauled him effortlessly up and got a shoulder under his arm to keep him there. “Better?”

“In the sense I’m not sitting in freezing mud anymore.”

“That’s what I love about you, Sam, always looking on the bright side of things.”

Sam gave him a dark look and tried to step away, to carry all of his own weight, but blanched and regretted it immediately as his feet registered a strong negative to that plan. Dean didn’t miss the reaction and loosened his grip, letting Sam slump back down to the ground. “Plan B, then.”

Not thrilled to be back on the ground, but finding freezing mud preferable to standing, Sam just sighed. “Does it involve teleportation? And you can think again if you think we’re leaving that jacket behind.”

“I wish, and why?” Dan said absently as he hunted through the pockets of his jeans. “Collecting souvenirs?” 

“We’re burning that jacket and every other last trace of remains we can find. I want those kids at peace, Dean. Not wandering the mountains for an eternity stuck in some shitty in-between state, scared and looking for their dad. That is the very least of what we owe them for this mess.”

Dean shot the skeleton a disdainful glance. “You found their dad for them, problem solved.”

Sam frowned at the crumpled bit of fabric still lying where he’d dropped it. “You think so?”

“Eh… ghosts can be weird. Maybe? I mean, that’s what they wanted, right?”

Sam scowled. “They also wanted me to kill you. And it’s pretty rich, you calling ghosts weird.”

“Hey!” Dean said, miffed. “I’m a direct sort of guy. None of this cursed item half-life bullshit. That thing about killing me was totally tacked on later, that can’t possibly be keeping their ethereal asses here. Besides, I’ve got a lighter.” He fished it out of his back pocket and held it out triumphantly. “No need to take it anywhere, all lingering questions resolved.”

“Do you have salt?”

“What, do they also require a pinch of parsley and some nice lemon for a garnish too? I left my spice rack in my other jeans, no I don’t have salt.” 

“You have to have salt too, Dean. It’s ‘salt and burn’ not just ‘burn and wander off assuming the job is done’.”

“I’m more of a ‘stalk and kill’ guy myself. This ghost stuff is crap.”

“How do you have an entire encyclopedia of supernatural bullshit in your brain and not know you have to salt ghosts?”

“Had to make room for other awesomeness?”

“Or this is just a transparent attempt to get me to leave it here so you don’t have to worry about me touching it again.”

Dean gave a noncommittal shrug.

Sam gave him a flat look. “We’re bringing the jacket.” 

It was Dean’s turn to scowl. “There’s exactly zero chance in hell that you’re getting your grubby mitts on that jacket again. Your vaporish BFFs seem able to convince you to do all kind of insane crap, and I’m not letting them take another run at it.”

“BFFs, Dean? Really?” Sam said levelly. 

Dean shrugged again. “I’m a modern kind of guy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he agreed. “You can carry it then.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that while I’m hauling your ass out of here too?” Dean demanded.

“What?”

“Earth to Sam! Star Fleet called, the teleporter’s on the blink and you can’t walk. Did you think we were gonna call an Uber?”

“What the hell is an ‘Uber?’”

“It’s a taxi,” Dean said dismissively. “You’d think you’d been out in the woods cut off from all civilization for a decade or something.” Dean pressed on before Sam could say anything about that. “Ideas, genius?”

“No, but you don’t seriously think you’re going to carry me all the way back to the cabin, do you? It took two freaking nights to get out here!”

“First of all, you were slow. And also, you can’t have been snookered into leaving until I left the first night, which puts it after midnight, and the second night you were soaking and recovering from your swimming adventure. It took me less than four hours to track you down.”

“At a dead run?” Sam demanded. Dean shrugged but didn’t deny it. “You can’t carry me four hours, Dean.”

“That sounds like a challenge, Sam.”

“It’s not a challenge, it’s a fact.”

“A fact of what?” Dean snorted. “It’s like every time I’m out of your sight for more than five minutes you forget exactly what I am.” 

“For four hours?”

“Trust me,” Dean said grimly, dropping the playful affect. “I can carry you for four hours a hell of a lot easier than I can let you out of my sight right now. I want you clean, and dry, and wrapped up warm somewhere I have complete control over. Then I want you to shut up and sleep so I can just watch you breathe until some of this jittery, crazy feeling is out of my system. We had an agreement, Sam.”

Sam’s own annoyance deflated in the face of the fear and anger in Dean’s voice. “I… know. I just…”

“Sam,” Dean crouched down so they were eye level, “just… look, I’m not asking you to apologize. Or hell, even feel guilty. This wasn’t your fault, okay? I’m not sure I’m willing to admit that it was entirely my fault, but it definitely wasn’t yours. I know that. I’m pissed, but half of it's just freaking instinct, and the other half is the whole stupid situation.” Dean sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “I will carry the freaking jacket, I will get you home too, somehow. I will not even think about trying to drag that skeleton along with us, so you can stop giving it those sad, sidelong glances right now. But after I have you back tucked in safe where I need you, and my nerves stop vibrating, I will come all the way back out here and burn it with salt, pepper, cumin, parsley, oregano, rosemary, or any other seasonings you want just so you can be absolutely sure that whoever the hell this was is actually all-the-way dead. Even though we had absolutely nothing to do with his death, or any reason to think he’s still hanging around, and it’s going to be a colossal pain in my ass. Deal?”

“Deal.” The immediate issues agreed upon, Sam sighed and slid one hand under the edge of the jacket collar, scratching at the itchy spot over his shoulder. 

Dean edged closer and frowned. He took hold of the coat and glanced at Sam’s face. “May I?” Sam looked a little confused, but shrugged. Dean slid the jacket back off Sam’s shoulder, letting in a new wash of cold that made Sam cringe, and then pushed aside the damp flannel and the collar of the t-shirt Sam was wearing until his bare skin was exposed to the freezing air. Dean carefully ran his hand over the red, scratchy place -- which just set off a new round of itching.

“Dean,” Sam squirmed, trying to shrug his clothes back into place and dislodge Dean’s exploring fingers.

“Hang on.” Dean pulled Sam forward so he could see the back of his shoulder too. “You have this anywhere else?” 

“The weird rash I probably got from spending so much time wrapped up in blankets that we wash like twice a year and cold, dry air? Yeah, a couple of places.”

Dean sat back on his heels while Sam tugged his clothes back into order. “How long do you think it’s been going on? It has to be recent for me not to have noticed.”

“You saw me stark naked in the yard not even three nights ago.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t bleeding so I wasn’t paying that much attention to what your skin looked like. How long?”

“I can’t keep track of time, Dean. You know that. Last week and last month might be the same thing to me.”

“Which is why I asked you how long you think, and not for hard facts.”

Sam sighed and thought about it. “…Maybe a week or two? It’s a rash, it will go away.”

Dean hmm'd, then ran an affectionate thumb over Sam’s cheekbone and stood up. “Ready to go?”

Sam eyed him suspiciously, but the snow was getting heavier and so were his eyelids. “Yeah, past ready.”

Dean eyed him critically. “Hungry?”

“In what sense?” Sam grumbled, unhappy to be reminded about it.

“Sam.”

“Always, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Do we need to do something about it here, or can you make it back home? I'd rather get home first, but not if you're actually suffering. If you can hold out, then we can get home, get you cleaned up, and warm, and you can have all you want from me.”

“And if I can't hold out?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Same thing, only you get a snack early. But when you snack, you like to sleep. And sometimes you don't like to wake up so easily. I might need you alert and focused at some point on this unexpected trip, so…” 

Sam nodded reluctantly. Sometimes he didn't like to wake up regardless, but it was a reasonable concern. He was hungry, but he could still ignore it. For a while. “It's not even been two nights yet, Dean. I can usually go at least four or five before I really need it.”

“Yeah, but normally you're just curled up sleeping, this time you've been getting yourself all kinds of abused wandering around out in the wilderness. It tends to run a body down. I doubt the usual measuring stick is going to apply. Besides, you feed from me a hell of a lot more often than that when we're just laying around.”

Sam shrugged. “I'm okay now. I'll let you know?”

Dean nodded, then walked over to pick the jacket up off the ground, shook it out, and then shrugged it on before Sam realized what he was intending.

“Dean!” Sam struggled back to his feet despite the pain. “What the hell--”

“Chill, Sam. I just wanted to see if your imaginary buddies were still hanging around.”

“…And?” Sam asked reluctantly after a moment.

Dean turned in a slow circle, then walked over and nudged the skeleton with his toe. The skull rolled back into the water with a faint plop. “Nope. Unless they’re hiding because they don’t like me.”

“Or you can’t see them because you aren’t human. Or, you know, because you killed them.” Sam winced internally at the memory of Kate’s fear. “I can’t imagine why they might not want to be around you. Don’t forget you’re coming back to burn those bones, you may want to keep that in mind before you kick any more of them into the water.”

Dean looked supremely unconcerned. “They’re going to be covered up with snow by then anyways. Just means more fire. We’ll miss you at the party, maybe I’ll bring marshmallows.” Sam didn’t dignify that with a response. “And you aren’t winning any points in the human category either right now,” Dean continued, “what with your not being dead of exposure and all.” 

“There’s still time,” Sam muttered, shivering in Dean’s coat. His attention was suddenly caught by odd dark patterns on Dean’s jeans, barely noticeable unless he was close, standing still, and Sam was staring straight at them. They were faint, but definitely not something Sam had seen before. “And what’s all over your pants?”

“Hey, don’t make this about me, we’re talking about you.” Dean let the shotgun slide off his shoulder and leaned it against a tree by the skeleton. “Give me your flannel.”

“What?”

“The flannel,” Dean repeated patiently, “give it to me. It’s wet and cotton, and not doing much for your insulation. I need it. You can keep my coat.”

Sam swore and wiggled the layer off as fast as possible before zipping himself back into Dean’s battered leather coat. He tossed the flannel to Dean, who promptly worked it on over Kevin’s jacket, checked to make sure it hung down far enough in back, and then held out his arms. “Well?”

“You should do runway work. Can we please just get the hell out of here before I actually freeze to death?”

“Such a killjoy, Sam. The goal is to keep the haunted item away from your delicate skin.”

“I’m wearing your coat and my gloves, Dean. I think my delicate skin is well protected.”

“I’m all for throwing the damn thing into the marsh and whatever hell with your imaginary friends, Sam. Just keep that in mind when you’re rolling your eyes at my precautions.” 

Sam shivered and nodded. “Whatever, just hurry.” Dean circled him slowly.

“Feet still hurt?”

“Yeah, but they’ve gone mostly numb at this point.”

“Mmmm. Climb on then, I guess.”

“You were serious earlier?”

“Deadly.” Dean’s smile was thin. He half-crouched in front of Sam and reached back to rest his hands just behind Sam’s knees. “Lean forward and wrap your arms over my shoulders. Try not to strangle me.”

“I feel stupid.” 

“Unless you’re real hung up on what the wildlife thinks of you, I think your ego will survive. Dignity is overrated.”

Sam groaned, but did as directed. Dean waited until he felt the weight of Sam’s body against his back and then grabbed hold and stood up.

“So I’ve got you, and the jacket, and hopefully not a passel of ghosts,. and I’m coming back for the bones, and I guess the shotgun since I’m out of hands and I doubt you want to try and juggle it. Unless you’ve got something to add, I think we’re ready. You let me know if your pen pals show back up.” Sam just sniffed against the side of Dean’s throat, so Dean took a cautious step or two to test the balance, and then headed off at a confident pace. 

“What if I do see them?” Sam asked suddenly.

“Tell me, and then… Plan C, I guess.”

“What’s ‘Plan C?’”

“Mmmmmm. Probably the plan where I choke you out before they drive you to do some other stupid crazy thing, throw the jacket down the deepest hole I can find, and you wake up deep in a nice, snug cave. Maybe hogtied,” Dean added thoughtfully.

“Yeah, Dean. Good plan, I’ll definitely tell you if I see them.”

“Because you and I practice an open and honest relationship, Sam. See how honest I was with you there?”

Sam mumbled something indecipherable, and probably unrepeatable, against his throat. Dean smiled, generally pleased with life. Certainly as opposed to life four and half hours earlier when he’d returned home to find Sam missing. Again. At least this time hadn’t involved a months-long manhunt, demons, and Sam’s fucking father. Ghosts, Dean could handle.

Halfway across the meadow Sam shifted uncomfortably, causing Dean to veer off a step or two. “Sam,” he said patiently, “this only works if you cooperate. Cooperating means I’m in change of steering. You’re in charge of staying still and catching a nap.”

“My knees are already killing me, Dean. There has got to be a better way to do this.”

“Are they killing you more than your feet? You want me to maybe build you a travois and drag you through the forest? This is faster, so stop squirming and concentrate on the beauty of nature.”

“Fine. But next time you pick a bolt hole I want temperate weather and libraries, Dean.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said, clearly meaning “not-a-chance.” Sam pressed his face into the side of Dean’s neck and closed his eyes as the open meadow gave way to skeletal canopy of the forest and the snow fell heavier around them.


	9. Chapter 9

“I didn’t get sick,” Sam mumbled minutes or hours later. The snow was still swirling down in the dark woods, blanketing everything in heavy silence and fragile ice. He vaguely recognized the area, but was drifting in and out of awareness and wasn’t entirely sure where they were anymore.

“When?” Dean asked as he picked his way over some loose stone in a drift of ice crusted leaves.

“The river.” Sam yawned and tucked his cold nose back up against Dean’s warm skin. It didn’t matter how it muffled his voice, he knew Dean would still hear and understand. “I was standing in it before I even knew it was there. I get nauseated just looking at it down the hillside from the cabin. I don’t understand how I could just stumble into it.”

Dean hitched a step to resettle Sam against his back, a process that also shifted his grip on the back of Sam’s thigh and gave some relief from the pressure there. Some, but not much. Sam grimaced but resisted the urge to squirm. It was uncomfortable, but not painful yet. Plenty of time for squirming later. 

“That’s not really surprising,” Dean said after a moment, distracted by navigating the path. “You were partially possessed. Dragged halfway into their creepy little world as long as you had the jacket on.” 

“And if affected me that much?” 

“You left the nice, safe place I put you, went on a two day hike with your imaginary friends, and then pointed a shotgun at me, Sam. Yeah, I think you were a little affected.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“No charge, but what I was saying is that kind of driving obsession could have blinded you to just about anything until it was too late. I doubt even a full possession would have been enough to blind you to being in the river, without anything equally awful to distract you, but wandering along the banks?” Sam felt Dean shrug against his body. “I found where you went in, and where you clawed your way out. The current was pretty fast, and you would have been disoriented and unbalanced. Once you were off your feet, well, everything after that would have just been survival.”

“I can’t even look at the damn thing normally, Dean.” 

“Yeah.” Dean paused while he negotiated a careful shift around a tree where the pathway crumbled into a bluff. Sam tightened his hold and closed his eyes again. “But that’s all in your head,” Dean continued once the footing was better, “it’s a learned reaction to how sick the water makes you and not something I would think is hard to confuse, given, you know, the circumstances. The actual reaction to the running water is a real physical problem, but it doesn’t really have any actual effect until you try to go through or over it. Just seeing it or knowing it’s there… anything you feel at that point is all psychosomatic. The field it gives off doesn’t agree with you on a cellular level and just a casual possession, of whatever stripe, can’t change your physical nature. But you have to be within a couple of feet to be affected by that. You also need to stop trying to strangle me. I’m not going to drop you off the cliff. Unless I pass out,” he added pointedly.

Sam grudgingly forced himself to relax somewhat. “I was in the water, Dean.”

“And the sun was rising, Sam. Another actual physical problem that’s just as fundamental as your water allergy. Were you stressed? Freaking out? I would have been.” He kicked something out of their way, the tumbling crash it made as it rolled down the hillside was almost shockingly loud in the quiet around them. “Your head’s a mess, you’re wandering around the woods without a real clue of what you’re doing or where you’re going. Then suddenly the sun is coming up and you’re stumbling around. Let’s all just be grateful that you clawed your way out before the sun actually rose and didn’t drown in the damn river. I don’t think your ephemeral friends would have been a whole hell of a lot of help dragging you out.”

Sam remembered thinking distantly how strange it was that they would have waited all day for him while he lay buried in the leaves. No attempt to talk to him, check on him. Just waiting by the river for the sun to set. Happy when he was awake, ready to press on. The faint, cool press of Kate’s hand, which he had chalked up to their coats and cold weather.

“So they were lying to me,” Sam said finally, after thinking over the events of the past couple of nights for a few minutes.

“I doubt it.”

“You doubt it?”

“Sure,” Dean said. “They were ghosts, Sam. Not malevolent spirits, or some other kind of supernatural thingee.”

Sam hooked his chin over Dean’s shoulder. “’Thingee.’ Is that a technical term?”

“Of course it is, what kind of a Hunter were you?” Dean asked, tone dripping with enough superiority that Sam was tempted to bite him. And if he bit him hard enough… “Anyways,” Dean continued, oblivious to Sam's musings, and probably not opposed even if he wasn't, “they were a couple of normal people who died abrupt and violent deaths while doing something emotionally intensive. Those kinds of ghosts aren’t really aware, Sam. They aren’t real, complete people. They’re like death echoes with a quest. A singular purpose that drives them. You’ve dealt with enough of them in your spotty career.” 

“They weren’t mindless, Dean. They were communicative, interested, and responsive. Interactive.” Sam hesitated for a moment. “Well, she was. Kate. Her brother… I’m not sure he ever spoke at all. Just followed us.”

“He just followed you around like some silent looming shadow of doom? That doesn’t sound creepy at all, Sam.”

“It wasn’t,” Sam said, bemused. “I just thought he was… quiet.”

“Yeah, like the dead.”

Sam tried to knee Dean in the side, which resulted in another quick sidestep and a huff of exasperation from Dean. “It’s not completely impossible you could accidentally smack into a couple of trees, you know.”

“I’m real concerned.” Sam looked up at the moon low on the horizon. “Are we going to make it back tonight?”

“Probably not. I’m not exactly going to risk both our necks running when I’m carrying you, so it’s going to be a bit more than just four hours. No reason to try to push through in one go. And then there’s the river.”

Sam shuddered involuntarily and felt his stomach clench. “I can’t cross that again, Dean. I can’t.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I think I need to be a little worried about how the hell I’m supposed to get home when we’re on one side and the cabin’s on the other!”

“Nah, I’ve got it covered.”

“How?”

Dean shrugged against him. “We can go upstream. You crossed at one of the widest spots. Higher in the mountains it’s just some tiny tributaries. Some so small we can just step across.”

“No.”

Dean stopped walking. “Really? One step, Sam?”

Thinking about it made goosebumps break out on his skin. One step. One step to get back home. With his fireplace, and his blankets, and his mattress that sagged just right. He drew a deep breath to fight down the nausea, but kept his voice even when he replied. “You may have to push me.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Dean picked the pace back up, winding along the side of the ridge, crunching through leaves and drifting snow. Sam let his eyes drift shut, but he was still awake when Dean spoke up, taking up the thread of the earlier conversation again. “The guy - it was his coat you were wearing. You were possessed by his need, his intentions. I’m not surprised he was barely a presence as an outside entity. That would have been incredibly draining for what’s really not that powerful of a spirit to start with.”

“And you still don’t think they were lying.”

“Sam, you know how ghosts work. I think they exist, or existed -- jury’s still out, in a timeless limbo reliving the last bit of their lives who-knows-how-many times before you got your hands on the jacket and suddenly their little repetitive cycle had a different ending. They were pretty weak spirits. I’m sensitive to them and I had no idea they were there, or I sure as hell wouldn’t have left any of their crap laying around. They weren’t even a whisper until you physically wrapped yourself in an item they were wearing when they died. It probably has blood spatter and some strands of hair on it.”

Sam’s skin crawled. The more time passed since he shrugged the jacket off, the more unreal and creepy the situation became. “Why keep it at all?”

“Apparently because I’m stupid,” Dean sounded supremely disgruntled at that, “but at the time I was thinking it looked about your size and you might need one eventually. Points for being right about the size, I guess.”

“I wouldn’t have needed one if you hadn’t dropped mine in a bonfire,” Sam growled.

“Sue me,” Dean said without a trace of apology. “I thought you’d be less inclined to wander around outside without one. And hey! I was right.”

“I knew that wasn’t an accident, you jerk. I want a jacket. And some heavier blankets. It’s freaking cold up here, Dean.”

There was a long, thoughtful pause before Dean finally spoke up again, “You never complained before.”

Sam tucked his nose back against Dean’s neck, exhaustion welling up in a way he couldn’t really ignore anymore. “I don’t remember it being this cold before.”

Quiet fell again, the faint slithery whisper of snowflakes sliding off Sam’s borrowed coat the only sound in the deep, velvety winter silence. It was definitely winter now. Any time there was snow actually landing on him, it was winter.

“It’s not okay, Dean,” Sam said quietly after several long minutes passed. “What happened to them? It’s not okay.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, well. It’s done now. Get some sleep, we still have a ways to go.”

With nothing else to do Sam drifted again, between true unconsciousness and something that was little more. On and off, as the snow fell as Dean moved, picking his way back through the forest to their solitary cabin in the dark.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam jolted awake to a crisp rustling and abrupt movement as Dean made some effort to kick through a pile of leaves until it was churned up and snow free. Once he was apparently satisfied, Dean crouched down and released his grip on Sam’s legs. Pain flared where there had been mostly numbness as blood flooded back into the bruised tissue and Sam slid down onto the leaves, landing sprawled on his back and blinking at the open sky overhead. At least the snow seemed to have stopped. “Dean?” Sam mumbled, voice raspy with cold and sleepiness, still getting his bearings.

“Just taking a break, Sam.” Dean helped him sit up straight. Disorientation made the job unexpectedly difficult. “You need to get your circulation going again.” 

Dawn was closing in. Sam could feel it clearly now that his mind wasn’t clouded by the pressing needs of the dead. “We’re going to run out of time.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“What it’ll be is daylight, Dean,” Sam said as he rubbed at one aching calf. Dean crouched down to help with the other one, seemingly completely unruffled by the time crunch.

“Then we spend the night outside. It won’t be the first time. If we detour up the mountain we definitely can’t make it home tonight anyways, not that we can make it home at this point regardless. No reason not to take some breaks.”

Sam wiggled his toes and flexed his feet, wincing at the movement, but working the ache out of his leg muscles. “I told you carrying me wasn’t going to work.”

Dean stood back up, looking miffed. “The break is for you, princess.”

Sam appreciated it, but he wasn’t in a charitable sort of mood where Dean was concerned. “Uh huh.”

Dean rolled his eyes and held his hands out as if offering to help Sam to his feet. Sam eyed the outstretched hands warily and made no move to take them.

“C’mon, Sam.”

“Am I being punished?” Sam asked as he reluctantly took hold.

“No,” Dean said, hauling Sam up with little apparent effort. Sam sucked in a sharp breath as the dull throbbing in his feet immediately flared bright with pain. “I’m making sure you aren’t actually crippled. If you can walk, you probably should for a little while. Get the blood flowing, work out your legs some more, generate some heat, be more appreciative of the ride.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said tightly, as he forced himself to take a few wincing steps. “It's really great, you thinking of me like this.”

Dean eyed him critically. “I can tell. You good to hobble on a ways?”

With some of the initial impact shock wearing off, Sam found standing marginally more tolerable. Which might just have meant that the cold had set in so deep that he wasn’t reading pain right any more. Either way, “Yeah, for a little while I guess. As long as slow is a speed you’re fine with.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m not in a hurry. We’ll have to dig you in somewhere in the next half hour anyways. We’ll be home tomorrow night; get you cleaned up, fed, and tucked back in.”

“Not the first priority, Dean.”

“Oh yes, it absolutely is.”

“First we burn things.”

“First we take care of you, and then I burn things. You aren’t touching any of this.”

“Fine,” Sam said agreeably. “I won’t touch anything. But I’m going to watch. I’ve damn well earned that.”

Dean snorted inelegantly, and pulled aside a low hanging branch to let Sam pass by. “How do you figure that? You were hijacked by the mindless undead, stumbled around in the woods for a couple of nights, almost drowned, almost fried in the sun, almost shot me, and are only not dead of exposure by the grace of, well, me, and somehow you think that earns you something?”

“I know their names, Dean. I looked in their eyes. I saw their fear, their worry. We talked about our fucking boyfriends. I told them I would help them, and it is the absolute very least that I can do to watch and make sure they are free from an endless cycle of being murdered by you.”

“Boyfriend, huh?”

“Really?” Sam demanded, shoving his right hand under the jacket by his hip to scratch roughly at an itchy spot. “That’s really all you got out of that?”

“I’m just not sure I’ve ever been anyone’s boyfriend before,” Dean mused aloud. “It sounds so… sixteen?”

Sam made a sound of utter disgust and strode past him, only to stop just a few feet away because he had no idea which way they needed to head. Dean was polite enough not to say anything as he took the lead again, and Sam trudged along in his wake for a while in the crystal clear, bitterly cold night air. 

The silence between them was companionable enough, a bone deep exhaustion wearing away whatever edges occasionally flared up on Sam's temper, and Dean untroubled by the weather or the darkness and pleased to be setting his world to rights. Dazed and zoned out, Sam actually walked right into his back when Dean finally stopped moving. Dean steadied him, and then gestured off to the side of the game trail they had been generally following. They had been descending again for some time, and the hillside rolled gently down to the left. Dawn was dangerously close.

“I think this is a good spot. Nice, deep leaves. Objections?”

“I don’t want leaves on my face,” Sam said after a moment, remembering his last waking. Feeling numb in more than body.

Dean eyed him suspiciously. “Is that an objection, or are you even awake?”

Sam just shook his head and stumbled a few feet away, then dropped to his knees and started shoveling out a place to sleep. The whole world was shivering, like a vibrating drop of water. He was pretty sure it was just him though, it seemed like Dean would have mentioned something otherwise. After a moment Dean joined him, and shortly they had a good sized pit dug out. Dean shrugged off of Kevin’s coat and the flannel over it, then separated them. He lay the flannel down in the depression and gestured for Sam to move in.

“Lie down.”

Sam sighed and did as directed. He wasn’t thrilled about the wet, decomposing leaves, but on the bright side he wouldn’t remember most of it either. And maybe it would be warmer. And the flannel under his head was a nice touch. Dean pulled out a twig, stuck it in the leaves by Sam’s face so it stood straight up, then draped the other half of the flannel over it to create a tent around Sam’s face.

“Better?” Dean asked, kneeling in the leaves at his side.

Sam nodded and reached out to tangle their fingers together, wanting the touch even with the gloves in place. It was almost time. “Maybe you don’t have to cover my face, as long as this keeps the sun off…”

Dean squeezed Sam’s hand and let go, then ran his fingers across Sam’s forehead to sweep hair still damp from the earlier snowfall from his face. “I’ll keep an eye on things. If I don’t need to, I won’t. Okay?”

“Okay. And tomorrow we go find one of those places where it’s only a foot across, right?”

“We’ll do what we need to, Sam. We can talk about it when you wake up.”

That didn’t sound quite right to Sam, but the sun was hovering right on the edge now and he could feel himself starting to fall. But before he did…

“What did you do with their bodies? They’re not… not in the water, right? You can find them?”

Dean sighed heavily above him. “They’re not in the water, Sam. I can get them, no problem. We’ll go home and have a big fire to give your imaginary friends a sorta proper Viking send off, and then forget this little clusterfuck of an adventure ever happened, okay? Go to sleep now.”


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing Sam was aware of when he woke was wet and scratchy on his face, and a blanket of light pressure pressing down over his entire body. He didn't want to move, just wanted to lay there, and maybe fall back asleep. It felt safe, like the old mattress and Dean's arms. Sadly, the tranquility was again shattered by nausea clenched in his belly and the spasm of deep muscle aches he hadn’t had when he’d gone to sleep. He didn’t think. It could be hard to tell… but no. This was definitely not how he’d gone to sleep. Or where. And there was only one thing in his current world that would cause those kind of feelings. Suddenly awash in panic, Sam sat up easily and tried to scramble free of the shallow leafy tomb. 

Using his right hand for balance made him wince and swear as throbbing pain in his wrist he’d only been barely aware of sharpened to a stab. He cradled it gingerly against his chest and looked around… to find exactly what he’d been afraid of. Sparkling under the moonlight, running wide and fast not even thirty yards away was the river. Sam stumbled back instinctively, only for a powerful grip on his bicep to pull him up short. He wrenched free and lashed out at Dean’s perfect fucking face, pissed beyond words, shaking. Dean dodged easily and grabbed Sam’s forearm, Sam gasped and recoiled as the throbbing pain from earlier flared back to life sharper than before. Dean let him go immediately. Sam cradled his bizarrely injured wrist again and glared out at Dean from under messy bangs.

“What happened to going higher up in the mountains, Dean? What happened to taking some time and… and not doing this!”

“Chill out. I said we could, not that we were going to.” 

“Why would you have even told me that if you never meant to do it!”

“Deep breaths, Sam. In, and out. See what I’m doing? Why don’t you do this with me for a few minutes.”

“Screw you, Dean.”

“What exactly are you pissed about, again? I covered up your head and neck with the flannel to protect you from the light and dragged your heavy carcass over the water while you were dead to the world. You were sick, you reacted just as badly as we knew you would, I cleaned you up and tucked you back in. And you didn’t have to actually experience any of it. How was this not a better solution to the problem?”

Sam fumed, but as his heart rate evened out he could acknowledge, to himself at least, that it probably was a better solution than another night or so wandering at even higher altitudes looking for a crossing he could tolerate. Or that Dean could just shove him over. And it was done now. There was nothing between them and the cabin but a little hiking and some time. If he was going to be angry with Dean there were more reasonable grounds to stand on than an expedient handling of the river problem. And the nausea had mostly faded, so he was less miserable on that front.

“Why didn’t you just carry me all the way home, then?” Sam finally asked grudgingly

“Ah, well.” Dean actually looked a little shifty. “It’s been years since we tested your sun allergy, and I think it’s gotten a lot worse. I put you back under the leaves as soon as I thought we were far enough from the water for you to be okay, you know? Didn’t want to take any chances of the fabric slipping.”

Sam frowned. “Worse? Why do you think that?”

Dean eyed the wrist Sam was still absently cradling and kind of shrugged awkwardly. Sam jerked the glove off and shoved his sleeve up to inspect. A narrow strip of angry red bubbly flesh was striped over his wrist, stinging anew with the movement and cold air now that it was completely unprotected. Sam pulled his other glove off with his teeth and gingerly touched the wound, finding it crusty on the edges and still seeping fluid. He glanced over at Dean. “How long was it exposed?”

“A couple of seconds. Maybe,” Dean said grimly. “I certainly wanted to drag you home, but since it’s been years since you got any healing kick off my blood, I figured you probably wouldn’t be real happy with the results if any more of you got smoked. Like your face.” He spread his hands in helpless apology. “The sleeve rode up when I was getting out of the water with you.”

Sam gave the wound another tentative poke and grimaced. “Glad I missed it.” He pulled the glove carefully back into place and slid the sleeve down to cover what was left exposed.

“We need to bandage it up right, but everything we have is filthy. The sooner we get home the sooner we can clean it. And your feet, and all the rest of you too.”

In the excitement of waking up, Sam had almost forgotten his feet. Pros and cons to them being almost numb with going on two days of being stuck in soaking, freezing boots. 

Sam resolutely turned his back on the river. “How much longer do you think?”

“If you walk? And by walk I mean hobble.” Dean raked Sam with an appraising look. “Three hours. Maybe four?”

Sam sighed, but he’d given up on any dignity or pride. The fact that he was freezing and in pain made it easier to abandon them. “And if you carry me?”

Dean brightened visibly. “Two.”

“Fine. You carry me, and then as soon as we get home we’re building a fire and finishing this mess.” Dean opened his mouth, but Sam continued before he could say anything. “And after that, we can do whatever you want.”

“Fine.”

Sam grimaced. There was something else that needed attention, the ache not so much in his stomach but throughout his entire body. “Maybe—” his voice trailed off. They were so close now.

“Maybe what?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “Never mind. Let's get home.”

“Uh huh.” Dean didn't look at all confused about what the issue was. “I thought you said you would tell me if you couldn't hold out.”

“I can hold out,” Sam snapped back, irritated.

“But you don't have to. It's not ideal, but we can take the edge off. And do it right when we get home. We're across the river now, I'm not as concerned about you having an inconvenient coma.” Dean sat down in the leaves and tugged up one sleeve. “Come here.”

That, Sam was entirely agreeable to. He sank down beside Dean, so far past caring about wet leaves that it didn’t even register as an issue. Every inch of him was already wet and cold, what was a little more damp? Especially when he was so close to getting a hit of his drug of choice. He waited with vibrating impatience while Dean unceremoniously nicked his own wrist with a fang, then shifted so Sam could wrap his lips greedily around the wound. Dean was warm, and Sam shamelessly leaned into him to soak up body heat as he swallowed as much as Dean was willing to share. It wasn’t much, barely enough to quell the itch in Sam’s veins and ease the hollow grinding ache. Lately it seemed like there was never enough. Just hunger. Sometimes less, sometimes more, but always there. 

At the cabin Dean held him through bad spells, whispering apologies and running strong, careful hands down his back, trying to ease knots of tension, helpless to do anything else. Dean could survive on animals, and really, on his own practically with no blood at all if he was willing to forego all of his paranormal gifts, but he couldn't sustain Sam that way. Sam needed Dean's blood ripe with power, needed that power, that magic, infused into his own body to ebb away his humanity, and worse, until only Dean's nature was left in his skin. But that meant hunting humans, and humans were very far away. So Dean weighed the competing issues of Sam's safety and his own need to hunt and settled on the twice monthly three day trip to town. A day there, a day back, and a day in the middle to shop for groceries while charming people out of their blood. Then back to Sam in their tiny cabin, and his endless, dreamless sleep.

And hunger. 

Sam was less than impressed when Dean peeled him away from his side after only a minute, fished something from the pocket of his jeans, and stuck one of the hated protein bars into Sam's hand. Acknowledging the need, Sam moodily peeled the wrapper free and swallowed the food down in as few bites as possible. While Sam chewed, Dean shook Kevin’s jacket off and slid it back on, then worked Sam’s borrowed flannel back on over top of it. 

“Where did you even find that?” Sam asked, climbing to his own feet and stuffing the trash into his pocket. “I thought I grabbed the last ones we had. You can't possibly have made it into town, not to make it back in the time you did.” 

“No, not quite, I found it on the river bank when I was tracking you.”

Dean crouched and Sam managed to wriggle into more or less the same position he’d had for most of the previous night. Dean’s grip in the same spots made the bruises flare to life, but two hours was less than four hours and this was a situation where less was definitely more. 

“You sure you aren’t touching that thing anywhere?” Dean asked, craning his neck to try and see if any of the jacket was visible above the flannel around his collar.

Sam huffed and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder again. “I’m sure.”

“No sudden ghostly manifestations trying to tempt you out to track down a missing cat or something?”

“You sure you want to keep digging this hole for yourself?”

“Why not? We’ve still got a couple of hours to burn. I’ve got nothing but time.”

Sam decided a change of subject was in order, also the river was still making his skin crawl, and he wanted very badly to be distracted. “What does ‘not quite’ mean?”

Dean shifted a little, settling Sam into a more comfortable position to carry, then set out at a brisk clip. “It means what it means, Sam. I didn’t quite make it to town before my spider sense told me you were doing something dumb and I had to race back and find you.”

“When did you know? I mean, what was I doing?”

“I have no idea, it’s just a bad feeling. It’s not like I get a detailed bulletin. My guess would be it came through loud and clear about the time you fell in the river.” Sam shuddered involuntarily and Dean gave a reassuring squeeze briefly over aching bruises before relaxing his grip again. 

Sam thought about that for a minute, and then frowned. “Wait a minute, you can’t have been gone for more than a couple of hours before I left. Then I was out for the whole day after I fell in the water, but you didn’t catch up with us before almost midnight. What the hell were you doing all that time?”

“Upset I didn’t rescue your ass sooner?”

“You didn’t rescue me, Dean. I wasn’t in any danger.”

Dean snorted at that. “Uh huh. Your trip up to that point seemed to be going fantastic. You were in just great shape when I crashed the party. Soaking wet, freezing, blistered, wrapped up in a possessed coat, and chatting with the improperly-dead. And aiming a shotgun at me, Sam!”

“We found their dad, Dean,” Sam said, completely unapologetic. “It should have been over. If you hadn’t showed up then they might have just faded away at peace.”

“Maybe they did that anyways.”

“And maybe we’re just going to make sure,” Sam growled.

“I guess the fire will at least warm you up,” Dean allowed grudgingly.

A few minutes passed in silence. Cold air snaked through every gap in clothing and the moon and stars were hidden behind thick clouds. Warm only where he pressed against Dean, Sam was unsurprised when snow began to drift down again, little icy specks against his exposed face and catching in his lashes. “You still didn’t say what kept you.”

Dean sighed. “I came as soon as I could, Sam.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t,” Sam said slowly. He hadn’t really expected to strike a sore spot with the inquiry. “It’s not an accusation, Dean. Just… did something happen?”

“Mmmm. Nothing worth mentioning.”

That wasn’t a “no,” and Sam started to get a sinking feeling of dread. “What don’t you just tell me happened now and save us both the bitching and yelling before I drag it out of you anyways?”

Dean sighed again, hard put upon, then apparently just decided to suck it up and shrugged. “I got hit by a truck.”

“’Hit by a truck,’” Sam repeated. “Like a glancing blow?”

“Like nailed dead on and thrown over the hood, Sam. Busted ribs, cracked pelvis, snapped a couple of bones in my legs. I was a little startled by what I was getting from you and froze up at a bad moment.”

“Jesus, Dean! Put me down!” Sam squirmed hard enough that Dean had to let him slide down or drop him. Back on his feet, Sam raked his gaze over Dean. The weird patterns on his jeans suddenly made a sickening kind of sense. Wading in the river twice must have washed most of the stains out, but the dark outlines were still faintly visible where the blood had dried first. Dean stood still with an expression of strained patience, letting Sam look his fill.

“Finished?” he asked when Sam appeared to be done scanning his body and was back to glaring at his face. 

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!” 

“Uh, well, because between your vaporish buddies, the whole possessed thing, and the fact that you're stupid cold and injured and hours from the nice safe place I left you, I had a few more pressing things on my mind, you know? Also, it’s fine. All better now. See?” Dean held up one foot and wiggled it at the ankle in demonstration. “Nothing to talk about.”

“How did you get hit by a truck?”

“Hop back on and I’ll tell you.”

Sam started off in the direction they had been heading. “You are not carrying me who knows how many miles back to the cabin when you just had your legs broken, Dean,” he called over his shoulder. “I can walk on my own.”

“Fine,” Dean called back, unmoving from his position, “then live with the mystery.”

Sam froze and turned back to stare at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I think so, Sam.” Dean took the few steps to catch up, and squared off in Sam’s path facing him. “Look, I’m fine. Whatever B.S. injuries I had are gone now. You, on the other hand, are fucked up and have to do your healing the slow way. If you really want to do something nice for me, then help me get us back to the cabin as soon as possible so we can put this entire shitty experience behind us. You can rest, I can rest, and the world will be a beautiful place. Could you help me out with that, please?” 

Sam crossed his arms, then winced and re-crossed them to get the pressure off his burned wrist. At Dean’s knowing look Sam sighed. “You’re really okay?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen me wrecked before, Sam. Remember how fast I healed?”

“Are you referring to the time you almost drained me dry to do it?”

“Don’t even start that with me,” Dean said as he crouched down, gesturing for Sam to get on with the getting on. Sam cooperated, it was certainly a lot warmer pressed against Dean, and faster was still better. If Dean didn’t care, he didn’t know why he was protesting. 

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Dean continued once had Sam where he wanted him again, checked his balance, and then continued to pick his way upwards on the slope of the ridge. He was steady and surefooted, even on the steep incline amidst the damp and muddy leaves. “I smashed the windshield of the pickup that hit me on impact, and put a pretty serious ding in the hood. The driver wasn’t an ass, he got out to see if I was alive, so I took a pint or so off him, then dressed the scene and the wound up to make it look like fallout from the accident. He’ll be fine.”

“Then what?” Sam asked, pretty sure “fine” was the wrong word for any of this.

“Then I staggered off into the woods to wait out the tedious process of mending my bones. Once I could stand and move okay, I circled back by the gas station and helped myself to the clerk and the local talent selling their wares in the truck park out back. Everyone’s got a little fuzzy stretch of time, a new scratch they won’t even notice, and slept great. I grabbed some random crap off the gas station shelves on my run through, didn't stop long enough to read what any of it actually was. So I have no idea what you'll be eating, but I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be running any more errands to town for a while.” 

“I don't care. I don't want to eat anyways. Food is overrated.”

“Yeah, well, that may not be a problem for much longer.”

Sam froze, barely even breathing as the implication washed through him. “…Really?”

“Eh, maybe? You're weird, remember. I probably shouldn't have said anything.”

“Well, you can't not tell me now. It’s been… Jesus, Dean. I have no idea even. Forever. You think it's finally happening?”

Dean stepped up on a snow-dusted log that lay across their path and hopped down with a bone jarring jolt. “First off, it's 'been happening' for a decade now, Sam. Secondly, I don't want to get your hopes up if I'm wrong, I haven't exactly seen it through this far before. My own experience isn't that instructive on account of me being pretty out of it by this point. And thirdly, I don't remember you being real excited about the next stage, do you? I thought we agreed it would happen when it happened and you didn't want to think about it before then.”

“That was before I spent an entire decade in the dark, Dean.” Burial was never really far from Sam's mind lately. Dean's repeated assurances that he wouldn't care when it happened helped Sam ignore the looming nightmare for a few years, but lately… lately he was just so tired. And the idea of being surrounded with deep, rich soil… Held sleeping in warm darkness, protected, cradled… Well, the idea just didn't fill him with dread anymore. He wasn't willing to call what he did feel longing, but it definitely wasn't dread. Being buried alive was still an objectively horrifying idea, but somewhere in the last few months other parts of him had started to get on board with it. 

Anything to end the interminable waiting.

“I like the dark,” Dean sounded a bit hurt. 

Sam groaned against his neck. “Me too, but I like other options. You know?”

“I know, Sam.” Dean kicked another rock out of the path. The snow was swirling down heavily again, and starting to stick against the bases of trees in measurable amounts. “Soon.”

“How soon?”

“I'm a vampire, Sam. Not a psychic. After it happens, I'll update you.” 

“You're such a jerk,” Sam mumbled, and buried his freezing nose in the warmth behind Dean's ear.


	12. Chapter 12

The next time Sam woke up it was because his world was shifting. He grabbed out on instinct and was violently rebuffed. “Dean?” Sam rasped, startled.

“Sorry,” Dean said. “You had your fingers on the coat. Here, got your feet under you?”

His entire body was stiff with cold and the abuses of the last few days, and not a little from hours spent with Dean's hands tucked up under his knees, but as it turned out Sam did, in fact, have his feet under him. For all a second, and then he stumbled, hit the back of his boots against something hard, and fell. The result of which was that Sam found himself abruptly sitting on his own front porch.

“Oh, thank God.”

Dean sprawled out beside him. “Better watch that, Sam, you never know when he might be listening.”

Sam knocked some accumulated ice from the collar of his borrowed jacket. “That was entirely serious.”

Dean snorted. “You could thank me.”

“It's probably best that we don't dwell on your part in this fiasco, don't you think?”

“Whatever.”

“I'm also thankful the snow stopped,” Sam continued as he tugged off one of his gloves, flexed his fingers with a grimace, and inspected the wound across his wrist. “Why don't you go find the bodies? While I start getting wood together for the fire.” 

Dean groaned and flopped back on the porch. “You're seriously going to insist we do this now? It's not like they're going anywhere.”

Sam shot him a withering look and didn't bother responding.

“Ugh. Fine.” Dean made a big show of sitting back up. “And there's no chance you would agree to do the sane thing and go inside to clean and warm up while I handle this?”

“No.”

Oddly, this caused Dean to smile. 

“What?” Sam asked, not seeing a lot of humor in the situation.

“Nothing,” Dean clapped his hand over Sam's thigh and gave it a quick squeeze as he levered himself to his feet. He looked down at Sam, face expressionless but with a hint of that odd humor still lurking in his eyes.

“What?” Sam asked again.

“I love you.”

Sam blinked. He knew that, it was broadly apparent in the direction their relationship had taken, but he didn't think it had ever been so bluntly said. It caught him very off guard. “Uh--”

Dean rolled his eyes and headed wide of the cabin, towards where the ridge fell away in a drop off much too steep to be easily climbed.

“You buried them down there?” Sam yelled after him.

“'Buried' is probably the wrong word,” Dean's voice drifted back.

Sam forced himself up and headed after him. “Tell me you didn't just chuck them off the hillside, Dean! This doesn't work unless we can burn all of the remains. Do you have any idea how far scavengers can scatter a body?”

“Chill, Sam. I wrapped them in canvas first. Plus,” he called as he slid down the first bit of the slope on his ass, “this isn't great terrain for four-legged pests. Go gather some wood,” Dean added as he slid out of view. “And find the salt!”


	13. Chapter 13

Sam arranged wood he'd dragged from the pile against the side of the cabin in the freshly cleared fire ring. He gave only a glance aside when Dean made a brief appearance to drop off a roll of canvas accompanied by a litany of quiet swearing before he vanished down over the side of the bluff again. Barely seasoned, the cut lengths of scavenged timber Sam was dealing with weren't ideal for cremation, but after a year more or less in the open it should be less a matter of actual cremation, and more the ritual aspect laying their souls to rest. He worked until he was satisfied he had something that would burn hot, clean, and for some time, then settled back down in silence to wait. 

When Dean climbed up again with his second find, he carried both rolls of the badly weathered canvas over to the fire ring, then snapped what looked like leather shoe strings woven through the grommets on the edges so that he could spill the contents out on top of the wood Sam had laid out. 

After two years on the forest floor, even wrapped in canvas, there wasn't much left. Large predators may have found the bodies inaccessible, and even smaller ones may have been somewhat foiled by the heavy shrouds, but mere canvas could never be a barrier to insects, bacteria, or the relentless march of time. What fell out on top of the wood was little more than a jumble of stained bone, ruined fabric, and hair. A wet, musty odor rolled out with them, but nothing more offensive than that.

Two years.

Sam ground his teeth to stop himself from snapping at Dean over the whole mess again while Dean dealt with the second body. 

When Dean had given the second canvas a good shake over the pile to make sure nothing was left, he roughly folded both of the shrouds and laid them on top of the pathetic remains. At Sam's expression Dean gave a casual shrug. “Hair. You can never get every trace of a human body, you just have to get most of it and all the meaningful bits. No reason not to make sure we toss on every scrap we've got.” Sam, who couldn't have cared less about some ancient canvas Dean had scavenged from who-knew-where, grabbed a handful of salt from the container he'd retrieved from the cabin and tossed it out over the entire pile. Then tossed a couple more handfuls on just for good measure. 

Cleansing a spirit was more of an art than a science.

“Lighter,” Sam said shortly. Between the damage the cold had done to his dexterity and the awkwardness of thick gloves, Sam almost fumbled the catch when Dean tossed it over. He solved at least half the problem by using his teeth to strip the gloves off so he could operate the damn thing. 

Considering the drama of the last few days, the conclusion of the affair was almost anticlimactic. The air was still and the wood dry enough that the kindling caught with little effort. After that, nature and some patience did the rest.

Sam watched the fire grow with arms crossed and a blank expression. He was cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather, and exhausted in a way that made him think that if he sat down he might not be getting back up. In the fire ring the ruined clothing caught, wreathing the remains in a halo of crackling flame as it consumed hair and fabric with equal greed. A few minutes later the canvas caught too, first singeing on the edges before blackening to cinders and falling away as the fire ate into it as inexorably as it destroyed anything. 

Dean nudged his shoulder and Sam half turned to see the jacket that had started the mess, or at least his involvement in it, being held out for him to take. Sam pulled one hand out from where it was tucked into an armpit and reached for it. He more than half expected Dean to whisk it out of his reach rather than let Sam touch it bare-handed, but Dean's expression was steady and so was the apparent offer. He did nothing as Sam took the jacket from him, silky and smooth against Sam's skin in a way that only the finest of plastic fabrics could manage. 

Sam raised a curious eyebrow. Dean shrugged and turned back to the fire. “Take a look around. You'll always wonder otherwise. If they're still here at all, they should still be here trailing along looking for help and you can have some kind of really upsetting last little chat. If you don't see them, then the job's done. We'll finish up here just in case, but either way -- it's over.”

“Then why take the chance?”

“Don't you want to know? It seems like the kind of thing you'd want to know. Besides, the fire's right here. I'm pretty sure I can wrestle that away from you and chuck it in the before you can do something crazy.”

“Crazier than turning my back on my own humanity and shacking up in the middle of nowhere with a vampire that's feeding on me?”

“There's the sex too, Sam,” Dean said, wounded. “That's pretty great. And power bars. You know you love those.”

“The sex is pretty great,” Sam agreed, lips momentarily turned up on the corners despite his general mood. But then the moment passed, and the weight was back. The crawling guilt. He swallowed and met Dean's eyes. Dean stepped back and left Sam standing alone by the makeshift pyre. Sometimes Sam was surprised at just how well Dean knew him. He did want to know. If they were still here, and he hoped they weren't, but if they were -- he did want that closure. To apologize for what could never really be apologized for. 

Sam refocused on the jacket. He drew a deep breath and wrapped his fingers tight around the collar, then looked around. At Dean. At the fire. At the woodlands around them, silent but for his own breathing and the crackle of the flames. 

Nothing.

After a few moments of quiet observation, Dean broke the silence. “You could put it on.”

“No.” Sam drew a deep breath and tossed the jacket into the heart of the flames, where it immediately began to smoke, blacken, and curl into itself. “No,” he repeated, testing the word again. “I don't need to. This was enough. They aren't here. Either in the marsh, or when we lit the fire – they aren't here. I know it. I can feel it now.” And he could, when his bare hand tangled in the coat collar… everything just felt different. It was just a jacket now. The bones were just bones. The evening, blistering cold, wet, and dark, was immeasurably lighter. They were still dead, and it was still a pointless loss of life, but they weren't trapped. Weren't stuck in some endless loop of fear and death far from where anyone else would be likely to ever find them, ever help them. It was really over.

The snow was starting to drift down again. 

Dean tossed another handful of salt over the jacket and closed the jug. “You ready to go inside?”

Sam shook his head and sank down onto one of the logs by the fire ring. The icy and damp soaked immediately into his jeans, but by this point he barely noticed. 

“You going to stay out here and freeze until this burns down to ashes?”

“Just for a little while,” Sam said as he tugged his gloves back on.

Dean, in his ripped up jeans and t-shirt, the fine hair on his bare arms trapping flakes of snow against flesh only a few shades paler, looked like he wanted to argue, but settled for just shaking his head and walking off. Sam could hear Dean rustling in the firewood and the creak of the cabin floorboards as he moved around behind him, but ignored it and just watched the fire, letting its heat thaw out his face and shins while trying not to dwell on what was turning slowly to ash at its heart.


	14. Chapter 14

“Sam.” The world was shivering, hovering on the edge of pulling together and flying apart. The silence of implosion, of the separate fragmentation of infinity. “Hey, wake up.” Tiny little shards of self. Only here, on the trembling line of being and not being was there room to breathe, and he clung to it tightly, willing the fragile balance to hold, afraid of what would happen if he fell to either side.

“Sam, c'mon, you can't sleep out here.” Something shook his shoulder and reality righted itself abruptly, the tense stillness of indecision kick-started back into planetary spin. Sam's eyes flew open, attention caught immediately by what looked like the remains of a large fire burning down in the fire ring Sam couldn't remember having used in years. Their fire ring, at their cabin. An unexplained sense of relief and gratitude washed through him and Sam blinked, puzzled, as tiny white snowflakes drifted by. Dean interrupted Sam's sluggish thought processes by shoving Sam's legs off the end of the rough wooden bench to make room for his own ass as Sam sat up slowly, feeling the cold and ache of having abused his body in each and every joint.

Probably. This time. It could be hard to tell. “Maybe? Why are we outside?”

“You were feeling cooped up and wanted some fresh air,” Dean said easily. 

Too easily. 

Sam give him a suspicious sidelong look. “So I decided to sleep out on a bench in the snow?”

Dean patted Sam's thigh. “You're always making bizarre decisions. I try not to judge.” 

“All right, shut-up.” Sam buried his face in his hands and tried to think. Dean was clearly lying, but making so shoddy an attempt it barely qualified. Asking him more questions probably wouldn't garner any useful information. In the fire ring a log collapsed, catching Sam's attention as it crumbled into glowing chunks of embers. With his eyes trained on the dying fire he gradually became aware of things half buried in the hot ash other than the crumbling remains of logs. Long, blackened, familiar things. Sam's shuddered as the events of the past few nights came flooding back.

“How long have I been out here?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes. 

“About an hour and a half.”

“We have to do something with the bones. Don't even suggest just tossing them back over the hillside.”

“Do you really think there's another restless spirit attached to that body out in the marsh?”

Sam frowned. “How is that relevant?”

“Do you?” 

Easier to answer than argue. He was so incredibly tired. “No.”

“So I don't need to go burn it?” Dean pressed.

“Probably not,” Sam said reluctantly. “I don't like just leaving him there though, Dean. It's not right.”

“Okay, well, ignoring your ongoing fascination with this mythical concept of 'right', would it appease your fragile sense of universal harmony if I dug all these freshly de-spirited bones from the ashes and hauled them out to that marsh to bury with their dear old departed dad?”

Sam gave Dean a somewhat suspicious look. “You would do that?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “As opposed to doing whatever with these here, and then hiking out there anyways to bury whoever that was? If burying them all together out in that marsh settles your mind on the matter and gets this whole things behind us, then yes. I would definitely do that.”

“My mind wouldn't be unsettled on the matter if you hadn't murdered them, Dean,” Sam growled, hunched over with his elbows on his knees as he tried to rub a growing headache from his temples.

“We shouldn't get all hung up on the past, Sam,” Dean said with great solemnity. “They say it's really about living in the moment.” 

Sam shot him a withering sidelong look, but then after a moment relented with a sigh. Another log collapsed into the ash and embers, sending up a shower of sparks and a brief lick of flame that quickly died back into a seething glow. “I'd rather dwell on the past than these current moments, actually.”

“Finally ready to head in?”

“If you give me a hand up. I'm not sure I can stand on my own,” Sam admitted reluctantly. Dean didn't comment, just offered a steady hand and pulled when Sam grasped it until Sam was on his feet and stumbled into Dean's arms. 

“Bed,” Sam said, getting his balance and turning towards the cabin.

“Bath,” Dean countered firmly, getting a hand under Sam's elbow and keeping him on his feet as they navigated the steps and into the cabin proper.

Once over the threshold, Dean released his grip on Sam and bolted the door behind them. Sam realized that Dean was serious about the bath when he caught sight of both of their aluminum tubs, full of water and shoved up until they were almost in the fireplace, where a fire was blazing away. Sam suddenly wanted to be warm and clean more than he could remember wanting anything. Ever. He was distantly aware of Dean doing something by the door, but couldn't have cared less in the face of the merrily burning fire and water so hot it was steaming. Sam didn't like rivers, and Sam didn't like lakes, but Sam had absolutely no quarrel with small, shallow contained pools of bubbly hot water.

“You were busy,” he commented as he sank down unceremoniously on the rough wooden planks by the tubs, used his teeth to tug off his gloves, and started trying to pick the laces of his boots loose with fingers that were so numb as to be barely cooperative.

“I had some time. Also an agenda.” Cabin secure, Dean sat loose-limbed, easy, and already barefoot on the floor in front of Sam and batted Sam's hands away from the frozen, mud-caked laces. Sam abandoned the effort to him and set to work unfastening the borrowed jacket instead. He groaned involuntarily when Dean finally loosened his right boot enough to tug it off and toss it into a corner. Sam tried to wiggle his newly freed toes and was relieved when they all seemed to respond, even if he couldn't feel them entirely yet. From the discoloration he could see on his sock without even looking at the bottom he wasn't sure he was ready to do a closer examination. 

While Dean worked diligently on his left boot, Sam slid the jacket off his shoulders and arms and shoved it aside. He started to peel his t-shirt off, then thought better of it. Jeans first. This close to the fire he could stand to sit around in his t-shirt and boxers, especially with a bath in the offering. Bare skin was still deeply unappealing. He unsnapped his fly and started to shove his jeans down just as Dean finally tugged the other boot off.

“Don't let them roll your socks off too,” Dean said as he crawled over to the rickety side table below the shelves that used to hold mason jars and retrieved a shallow plastic pan. Then he got up and dug their barely used first aid kit from the cedar chest by the door. Sam sighed.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Haven't seen your skin yet, but we should probably do this while they're still a little numb.” Dean snagged the scratchy wool blanket from the bed on his way back and tossed it down behind Sam while Sam squirmed out of his damp jeans, careful of his socks. “Lay down.”

“If I lay down I might pass out,” Sam said as he tossed his filthy jeans aside.

Dean shrugged and sat back down by Sam's feet. He dragged one of the tubs away from the fire somewhat, and filled a half bowl of the steamy water from it, then set the bowl down between Sam's ankles. “This will be a lot easier if you just lay down instead of trying to sit up while I work on the bottoms of your feet.”

Not really objecting, Sam lay back on the blanket and turned his head so he could still watch. “Treat a lot of blisters?”

“I've treated more than a few of yours over the years,” Dean said absently as he dug out the bottle of betadine and some swabs and bandages. He rummaged around in the kit for a few more minutes, then dipped his fingers in the water he'd set aside out and wiped them off on his jeans. “Seems fine. Help me out here.” Sam obediently bent his knee to help Dean ease his sock-clad foot into the bowl, biting back a few choice words as the warmth made his nerve endings zing back to life. It felt more like he'd dipped his foot into liquid fire than a pan of warm water, but wasn't entirely unexpected and he'd endured worse.

Dean gave it some time to saturate everything, then gently eased Sam's sock off once it seemed like the cotton wouldn't stick to open wounds. He tossed the sock in the general direction of Sam's discarded jeans, swished the water around Sam's foot a few times, then edged the basin aside and gave the bottom of Sam's foot a dubious look.

“How bad is it?” Sam asked when Dean said nothing.

“Eh,” Dean made an iffy gesture with his free hand, lowered Sam's foot to his lap, and soaked a swab with betadine, “let's just say that it's a good thing you aren't planning to do a lot of walking anytime soon. Top and sides aren’t in great shape either.” Sam grimaced and turned his head to watch the fire instead as Dean poked, prodded, cleaned, and bandaged, then repeated the process with his left foot too. When Dean finished he went to dump the soiled water outside. Sam's feet were more bandage than visible skin, and the returning sensation was anything but fun, but at least it was done. Sam sat back up and reached for the cloth thrown over the side of the closest tub, but Dean grabbed it first.

“Uh uh,” Dean said firmly. “I did the hard part, I get to do the fun part too.”

“The fun part?” Sam asked with a raised brow.

“Right.” Dean settled back down and trailed a hand up Sam's bare thigh. “The part where I get to clean you up, get you filthy, then clean you up again.” The hand paused as Dean raked the rest of Sam with a critical look. “Starting with your hair.”

“Or,” Sam countered as goosebumps rose on his bare arms, only partially a result of the cold air, “you could just hand me the washcloth and let me do this myself, then we could just go to bed and be more comfortable. And warmer.”

“Yeah, you have no sense of fun at all. Or adventure.”

“Must have washed off in the river,” Sam growled.

“Or it’s buried under all this dirt you've managed to pick up.” Dean let his hand drift a little higher and slip to the inside of Sam's thigh just below the hem of his boxers. Sam drew a sharp breath but made no effort to dislodge him. Encouraged, Dean let his fingers brush under the edge of the fabric where Sam's skin was especially soft and inviting. “C'mon, cooperate. I promise it'll be worth your while.” 

Sam licked his lips, his gaze locked on Dean's hand as if mesmerized. “If you start with my hair, my shirt's goings to end up soaked and I'm going to be even colder.”

Dean left his hand where it was and leaned in to brush his lips just above the collar of Sam's t-shirt. “Then you'll just have to take it off. I've got ways to keep you warm, and the fire's starting to take the edge off the room. Your bare skin will dry faster than the fabric.” Dean reclaimed his hand and sat back expectantly.

Sam looked somewhat indecisive. “I'm trying to decide if this is one of your good plans, or one of your plans you talk me into and then I don't talk to you for three days.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I want to scrub you down with soap and hot water and have some celebratory sex, not stage a bank robbery. Stop stalling and strip. Want help?” he offered after a moment when Sam hadn't moved.

Sam snorted and rolled his t-shirt up over his head, tossed it after his jeans and socks, then, being careful of his bandaged feet, squirmed out of his boxers until he was sitting naked on the scratchy wool. It was growing warmer in the cabin, but still a long way from comfortable. “What's the next step in this grand plan?”

Dean dipped his hand into the tub he'd pulled back from the flames. “Come sit next to this and tilt your head back. Bring the blanket. I'll wash it later after you're asleep and toss it on the bed when it's dry.”

When Sam settled in place, Dean used the bowl to dip water out and rinse it through Sam's hair until it was thoroughly soaked, then set the bowl aside to work up a lather with the cheap, flowery shampoo they had on hand. At first tense, Sam relaxed with the application of warm water and Dean's strong fingers until he was sagging back more than sitting upright. 

Dean broke the companionable silence after a few minutes. “Don't get your skin against the side of that tub. It's too hot for that.”

“Mmmmmm,” was Sam's only response, eyes tightly closed as he let his body sway gently with Dean's movements. 

“Are you falling asleep?”

Sam's eyes opened. “Maybe. Feels good.”

“I've got plans that will feel better. Close your eyes again, time to rinse.”

When he was done rinsing, Dean pulled Sam back up and into a kiss, a gentle brush of lips that kindled into something deeper, almost fierce as the events of the past few days bled into it. When Sam started to pull back, Dean caught his own tongue on a sharp tooth. A moment later Sam caught the hint of blood and shoved a laughing Dean down onto his back, Sam's naked body pressed all against his front while Sam's wet hair dripped down over Dean's shirt and neck. Dean let the protracted kiss go on a few minutes, enjoying the contact and the weight of Sam over him, but eventually shoved him off, ignoring Sam's faint but distinct whine. Dean propped himself up on his elbows to give Sam a good leer where he was sprawled out next to him.

“Blood or sex?” Dean asked curiously.

Sam's glare was withering, but he was wide awake now. “You're seriously going to ask me to choose?”

“Nope,” Dean said as he crawled back over to the tubs and grabbed the cloth. “Just want to know what's got you so suddenly hot.”

Sam shrugged and scooted back to his blanket and into Dean's easy reach. “Needs and wants. I need the blood, I want other things.”

“Other, naked things,” Dean approved. He used the edge of the blanket Sam was sitting on to get as much of the water as possible from Sam's hair, then set to washing Sam's face and neck with care to keep the soap from his eyes and no particular attention to the temptation of the freshly scrubbed line of his throat.

Sam sat for it impatiently. “Funny that I'm the only one not wearing clothes. Also I can seriously do this faster on my own. So we can get to those fun parts you mentioned. While I'm still conscious.”

Dean avoided Sam's attempt to take the cloth and glared until Sam subsided with a sigh. “I'm having fun, and the sun is still hours away. Suck it up.”

Sam started to raise another objection, more for the sake of the argument than because he had any real protest against the situation, but was neatly derailed by a swipe of the soapy wash cloth across his collarbone. The rough texture of the warm cloth and glide of the soap left his skin tingling in its wake, eager to be touched. He met Dean halfway for a another distracting kiss that lingered while Dean continued to wash the grime of the last few days' inadvertent adventure from Sam's skin, chasing the rinsing of soapy water with the firm touch of his bare hand. If he was gentler in the places Sam's skin was reddened and abraded with rash, Sam didn't seem to notice. 

Dean sighed when he reached the vicious burn slashed over Sam's wrist, still raw and weeping where movement had disturbed the skin. “I'm sorry about this,” he said, looking it over as he washed carefully between each one of Sam's fingers.

Sam glanced down at it. Rinsed clean, it looked a lot worse than it felt. “It was an accident.”

Dean's hand tightened on Sam's hand as he rubbed at dirt crusted around a nail with more vigor than it probably needed. “I don't mind if you get a little bruised up and mauled in good fun, but that's an actual injury. And it was my fault. That shouldn't happen. That shouldn't ever happen. I made you a promise, Sam. To protect you, to keep you safe while you can't protect yourself. Letting parts of you get crispy fried while you're unconscious doesn't really fit into that.” 

“Hey,” Sam touched Dean's face with his free hand to refocus his attention. Dean looked up and Sam was surprised at how clear the genuine regret was. “It was an accident. I'll heal. I probably would have been a lot more beat up if we'd spent another night wandering around the range, not to mention getting across the damn river. In the grand scheme of things… I'm really not upset about it.”

Dean snorted and went back to his task. “If I'm going to leave marks on you, you had damn well better enjoy it.”

“Gee, Dean. If only you'd had that attitude back when we first met,” Sam said levelly.

“Back when we first met you were some smug hunter twerp and I wouldn't have been overly concerned if you'd gotten lost down a mine shaft. Still delicious though.”

“What changed?” Sam asked, the discussion rehashed enough over the last decade that he could find it amusing.

“You grew on me,” Dean said, the corner of his lip curved up as he caught Sam's genuinely good, if somewhat frustrated, mood. “Like fungus.”

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean rinsed the last of the soap from his hands. “Sorry you have to tolerate me.”

“It's okay,” Dean said magnanimously, “I'm sure you'll be pulling your own weight. You know, eventually.” Sam looked a little outraged, but Dean distracted him by ghosting bare, soapy hands up the sides of his rib cage sending a shiver up Sam's spine and raising goosebumps on his skin.

“You wouldn't dare,” Sam said dangerously at the glint in Dean's eye.

“I wouldn't?”

“My wrist, remember?” Sam tried. “You might hurt my wrist.”

“What if we bandage it first?”

“What about if you stick to that grand plan you shared earlier?” Sam suggested firmly.

Dean soaped his cloth up again and scooted a little closer to wash over Sam’s chest, rubbing a slow circle around a peaked nipple before giving it a rough swipe of the cloth. “So now you like my plan.”

Sam leaned into the rub and met Dean's eyes. “Maybe I just like you.”

Dean grabbed his chin for a quick brush of lips, then pushed Sam back again. “You're trying to mess up my agenda again.”

Sam rolled his eyes and let his hands wander freely while Dean tried to wash the rest of him clean. Partially because feeling up his lover was usually a fun thing to do, and partially because he hadn't forgotten Dean getting hit by a truck not even twenty-four hours earlier. He needed a little more concrete reassurance that Dean didn't have misaligned bones or gaping flesh wounds. 

Despite the distraction, Dean was persistent. He made it pretty much down to Sam's waist before his own clothes were so wet from the washing and Sam's touching that he laughed and pulled back to let Sam help drag him out of his shirt. The jeans he left on. They'd been at it enough years together for Dean to know they'd get distracted if they were both naked, and Dean wasn't done with his self-appointed task. 

“Better?” Dean asked as he added his shirt to the pile of Sam's discarded clothing with a careless toss.

Sam's eyes were more focused than Dean had seen them in weeks, and a little wild in the reflection of the fire. “It was better when you were closer.”

“Easy enough to fix,” Dean said agreeably and scooted back in. He tugged at Sam until Sam was kneeling, then wedged his own knee in between Sam's to nudge his thighs further apart and give Sam the rough nap of his denim clad thigh to rub against. As Sam settled into place with a low groan, Dean wrapped his arms around Sam's waist and took his time sucking a series of hickeys into the thin skin over his left collarbone while he washed the broad planes of Sam's back. Sam's breath hitched as Dean finished higher and then worked the washcloth down his lower spine and over the firm muscles of his ass. He paused, “Spread a little more?”

Sam nodded against Dean's shoulder where his head was resting and edged his knees out a little further. “Maybe should have started down here,” Dean murmured just below Sam's ear while he worked the cloth gently over the sensitive skin between his legs, “when the water was warmer.”

“It's fine,” Sam managed. “It’s fine now.”

“Mmmm. Maybe.” Dean tossed the cloth over the edge of the rinse tub and soaped his bare hands before returning to his task. He held Sam's hip with one hand and ran the other one over the curve of his ass and down where the washcloth had been until he'd thoroughly groped every inch of Sam from his dick to the base of his spine. He let his fingers barely dip into the tense opening, and moved on when Sam tried to squirm back on them a little.

“Ah ah,” Dean scolded loftily as he slid his hand onto the more neutral skin of Sam's flank and rubbed slow, deep circles into the flesh there, “I haven't finished cleaning you yet. It's clean, then filthy, then clean again. Remember?”

“I feel like you can multitask,” Sam hissed, chin hooked over Dean's shoulder and pressing his dick more firmly into the wet denim of Dean's thigh as he resisted the urge to rock. 

“I might miss something, and this is important.”

“Dean, I am seriously about a minute from shoving you away and finishing this myself, in all senses of the word.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Up then, can't reach the front with you hanging all over me.”

Sam huffed an exasperated sigh, but straightened up enough to support his own weight. Dean scooted back just enough to break the touch between them and slid both his soapy hands over the tight muscle of Sam's belly and down, following the trail of coarse, dark hair until he could rake his fingers through the thatch of it and grasp the real prize. Sam shot a hand out to brace himself on Dean's shoulder.

“Are your knees numb yet?” Dean asked, catching and holding Sam's gaze, voice and mannerisms at complete odds to the slow, slick massage he was administering to the swollen flesh between Sam's legs. Sam knew from years of first-hand experience that trying to rush Dean when Dean was intent on tormenting him was wasted effort. Faster to get what he wanted to just endure in the first place. The enduring wasn't exactly a trial. 

“I'm fine.”

“Are you sure?” Dean pressed, tightening his grip a little, but not enough for real relief. “Because we can move if your knees hurt. I still need to wash your legs.”

“I'm fine, Dean,” Sam ground out, wanting to focus on chasing his pleasure and not Dean's inane, needling distractions. The threat of stopping was probably real though, so Sam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I'm fine,” he repeated after a moment, opening his eyes to meet Dean's gaze calmly. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” Dean echoed with an odd smile that sometimes haunted Sam's dreams. Back when Sam had normal dreams.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed as Dean continued the slow, maddeningly even stroke. “Anything.”

Dean must have accepted the surrender, because his smile took on a definite possessive edge and the façade of careful washing turned into something a lot more satisfying and a lot less gentle between one stroke and the next. “What if what I want is whatever you want?”

Sam blinked, a little thrown by the sharp conversational turn and the rougher, tighter stroke to his cock. “I thought you had a grand plan,” he managed after a moment

“And I thought you didn't like it. I'm compromising.”

“Generous of you.”

“I'm a generous guy.” Dean gave an expert twist of his wrist and smiled when Sam's arm buckled and a shudder wracked his frame. “You want it now?”

“As… as opposed to when?” Sam gasped out through another harsh stroke that hit all of his nerves just right

“As opposed to in a little while after I'm done working you over, drying you off, and I drag you to bed. You can come now, or when I'm buried so deep inside you can taste me in the back of your throat.”

Sam licked his lips. It didn't feel like a fair decision. “Both?”

Dean snorted and his hands eased off a little. “Uh huh.”

Sam definitely didn't want that. “Now,” he decided, wanting that pleasure back.

“You sure?”

“Jesus, Dean. Just--”

Whatever Sam had been about to snap was lost as Dean moved snake-quick, pulling one hand off Sam's cock and reaching out to twist his fingers into the damp hair at the back of Sam's head. Sam cried out, startled, but gave no resistance as Dean used his grip to jerk Sam's head back, exposing the clean line of his throat and buried his sharp canines into his second favorite artery, then withdrew his teeth and sealed his mouth around the wound. 

He let the rich, familiar blood wash over his tongue even as he let the thick, heady edge of his own power sweep into Sam's body, twisting every sensation into pleasure as heavy and swollen as Sam's cock, still being worked in Dean's grip. Sam's own grip on Dean's shoulder would leave bruises even on Dean's skin, and his other hand was locked tight onto Dean's arm down by his waist. The soft, helpless noises he made as Dean rolled him under with practiced skill and innate gift were thrilling in a way that appealed to Dean as both a predator and a lover. 

Sam always made all the very best sounds. 

But as much fun as taking Sam apart was, Dean didn't drag it out. He couldn't afford to take much of Sam's waning strength, and he could taste in his blood just how little of that was left. How little strength, and how little time. Sam was close, so much closer than he had been even days ago, when Dean had last rolled the flavor of Sam's life over his tongue. That was exciting too, but in a way that made Dean want to wrap him in blankets and pet his hair. He could do that once Sam had fallen back into his coma. Other things first, when Sam was still a living, conscious presence in his arms. 

Dean slid his teeth back in for that extra sting and was unsurprised to feel Sam come apart with a gasp, then slump shuddering against him. Dean licked over the small wound in Sam's throat until the bleeding was negligible, then pushed, pulled, and prodded until he had Sam arranged back down on the blanket to his satisfaction. Sam offered little resistance, more uncoordinated and hazy than anything, muscles loose and relaxed. He sighed easily when Dean took up his cloth again and resumed his task, washing the leavings of Sam's pleasure away with everything else as he finished cleaning his groin and moved down his thighs. 

Sam watched Dean work with heavy lidded eyes, cooperating until Dean had washed everything down to Sam's bandaged feet, then stretched with unconscious invitation against the scratchy wool. “Bed?” 

“Almost.”

Sam sighed. “What now – I thought the rest of your plans involved the bed?”

“Hey, I'm the one giving the bath. You give me a bath next time and we'll do what you want.”

“I thought we were compromising,” Sam commented idly, still loose and relaxed. The fire and Dean's attentions had finally raised the room to a temperature comfortable to his naked skin. He could stand a little more heat and missed the blankets, but it wasn't pressing. He closed his eyes for a moment and past the soft crackle of the fire and even fainter sounds of Dean's movement, he could hear the slither of snow sliding down the metal roof. 

It was winter in truth now, and the spring felt so very far away. 

“I really don't think you'll remember that much of it,” Dean said. 

Startled, Sam's eyes flew open. “Are you reading my mind?”

It wouldn't be the most ridiculous thing about his life.

“How cool would that be? And no. You were talking aloud.”

“Oh.”

“Did you think I would forget to mention casual telepathy?”

“I don't know.” Sam turned his head to watch Dean strip out of his jeans and give himself an equally thorough but much hastier bath than the one he had inflicted on Sam. It was a nice view.

“When I was with them, before,” Sam said suddenly, “I felt like I could just… find their dad. Like something was pulling me towards him.”

“You were possessed,” Dean said dismissively.

“How could it have come from them, Dean? If they could find their dad, they wouldn't have needed me. But they did. How—”

“Sam,” Dean cut him off, “you're in a weird place right now. Forces I can't even begin to explain to you are working on your body and your mind. Preparing you to become something that you can't understand until you live it from this side. Maybe they needed to be shown the way by someone who gave a damn, or maybe their need just triggered something deep inside you where all this power and transformation is steeping. Either way, it doesn't matter now.”

“Or maybe it's the demon in me, still fucking things up,” Sam said quietly.

“There is no demon in you now.” Dean's voice was as hard and cold as the snow piling around the cabin outside. 

Sam didn't argue, just let his eyes fall shut again as Dean dried himself off. From a distance he heard the soft click of a cap and then the scent of lemon and some kind of subtle herb reached his nose. A moment later Dean's hands landed back on his skin and Sam half sat up, startled. He eased back on his elbows, bemused, as Dean started with his ankles above the bandages and set to rubbing lotion into his skin with long, even strokes.

“Lemon?”

“Lie back,” Dean grumbled. “It's the only thing they had left.”

Sam smiled and did as directed. “How did we get lemon in the first place?”

“The chick at the stand who makes the good stuff was closing up shop when I was in town last. She had a bottle of the sandalwood and a bottle of the lemon--” he paused to sniff one lotion covered hand, “I don't know, basil or whatever this is, and we used up the last of the sandalwood. Suck it up.”

“I'm going to smell like some kind of tart.”

“Sometimes you just make the comebacks unsportingly easy, Sam.”

“Just being charitable for you.

“Uh huh.”

Dean had a few more choice things to say, but Sam lost track somewhat as he let himself drift into a hazy place full of the easy, gentle pleasure of Dean's care and company, and the steady, even strokes of his hand. His body took sharper notice when Dean smoothed the lotion into the skin of his inner thighs and sparingly in more delicate areas, but Sam was still spent from earlier and while the touch sparked some interest, it wasn't enough to overcome the easy lassitude he was blanketed by. 

Sam swam up to a little more of an alert state when there was the snap of another cap and Dean's hand slid between Sam's spread thighs to nudge against the opening there, stroking firmly with slick fingers until the muscle relaxed enough to slip one in. He followed with a second moments later and thoroughly spread slick inside. Dean was gentle, but obviously not playing the tease. His touch was focused and almost business like. 

“That had better not be lotion,” Sam warned sleepily.

Dean snorted, still intent on his task. “What part of anything tells you I've lost my mind?”

Sam was thinking up an answer when Dean pulled free again and washed his hands off, then he opened the other bottle and was back with the lotion. Sam could feel the weight of Dean's cock against his own skin when Dean nudged him onto his stomach and leaned over him while rubbing in the lotion. Sam spread his legs further in invitation.

“Not yet,” Dean said, and slapped Sam's ass lightly before moving away entirely. “Bed time.” Sam sat up slowly, rubbing at the sting. 

Dean grabbed a plastic bottle of water and rummaged in an unfamiliar duffle bag by the door while Sam considered his options. He eyed the bandages on his feet, and settled for just crawling the five feet to the battered mattress he had deeply missed for the last few days.

“You could have asked for help,” Dean said dryly as he slid in beside Sam under the quilts. “I just cleaned you up and the floor is filthy. Also, here.” He dumped the water bottle and a couple of familiar, foil wrapped bars on Sam's chest.

“No.” Sam shoved the bars aside so they fell to the mattress between them.

“Yes,” Dean said flatly. He put the bars back on Sam's chest. “Drink that, and eat these.”

“I'll drink the water.”

“And eat the protein bars,” Dean added firmly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at Sam. He picked up one of the protein bars and unwrapped it.

“Dean—” Sam protested.

“You want to do it baby bird style? You are kind of my fledgling, I suppose.”

Sam gave Dean a suspicious look. “What does that even mean?”

“Oh, you know. First I'll chew it up real well, and then—” Sam didn't miss the dangerous glint in Dean's eye, and cut him off by grabbing the opened bar from Dean's hand. 

“Just give me the damn thing.” He bit off chunks as large as he thought he could manage without gagging, making sure to glare at Dean steadily the entire time as he choked it down. Dean was completely unfazed, and helpfully unwrapped the second bar as Sam finished the first. Sam wasn't any happier about this one, but the first one had gone down okay and he understood on an academic level that he still needed to eat, even if he desperately didn't want to.

When the bars were finally gone, Sam didn't need any encouragement to break out the water. He swallowed half of it before Dean tugged the bottle out of his hand and screwed the lid back on. He set it on the floor by the bed and rolled back over to Sam.

“You can drink the rest before you sleep,” Dean murmured before leaning down to trace little biting kisses along the line of Sam's jaw. Sam arched his throat, offering, but Dean only smiled against his skin and drew the blankets up higher around them. “Warm enough?”

“I will be. I thought you said something about—”

“Getting there,” Dean said against the skin under Sam's jaw, mouthing his way over the thrumming pulse there as he settled his hips into the welcoming embrace of Sam's thighs. He could feel Sam's cock pressed against his stomach, only half hard now, but Dean wasn't surprised after the bath and Sam's general state of being. And Sam was certainly willing enough, hooking one long leg encouragingly around Dean's as Dean tugged him into a more convenient position and leaned in for another taste of Sam's lips. 

The kiss wasn't as forceful or consuming as ones shared earlier, but was more intimate and familiar in other ways. Welcoming, and full of shared easy pleasure and personal knowledge gleaned from a decade spent almost entirely in their own, exclusive company. Dean thought he could almost come just from the kiss given time, but that time wasn't now and he pressed himself firmly against the tight barrier muscle, swallowing Sam's gasp as it gave under the pressure. Dean rested his head against Sam's collar bone and groaned as he buried himself with one slow thrust in Sam's tight, soft heat. 

“Good?” Dean asked after a minute, raising his head to catch Sam's gaze. Sam's eyes were dark. He nodded. Dean licked an affectionate stripe over Sam's cheek just for his annoyed expression and set into an easy, slow roll of his hips. Something he could maintain and Sam could handle for a while. Something less about getting off and more about connection, being together in the same skin for a few minutes. A celebration of everything being set back to rights in their world. 

Alone together, here at the end of Sam's human life. 

Sam, who was heavy lidded and dark eyed and seemed already almost half asleep as he shifted a little against Dean's deep, gentle thrusts. Adjusting, settling. Dean bent in for another kiss, even slower and more languid than earlier. The rush of pleasure as he finished almost took Dean by surprised, so little attention had he been paying to his own body. He let his weight settle on Sam for a moment while Sam stretched beneath him and ran slow, comforting hands over the broad sweep of Dean's back. 

“Sleep now?” Sam asked after a few minutes had passed. Dean eased off of him and slumped onto the mattress proper. 

“Sleep? Not feed?” Dean asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Sam frowned, he looked almost confused. “No, …I mean, we should do that first. I should be starving. Why--”

Dean swept the still damp hair back from Sam's face with gentle fingers. “It's okay.”

Sam looked profoundly uneasy. 

“It's okay,” Dean repeated. “You're just getting closer.” He bit deep into his own wrist and pressed the wound to Sam's mouth, distracting Sam. He might not be feeling the edge of hunger, but when presented with the option it was clear his body was more than willing to indulge. He sank his blunt, entirely human teeth into Dean's skin around the wound. Dean winced, but made no effort to pull back. Sam needed all the blood Dean could give him now, and if his instincts were encouraging him to bite, well, that was probably a good sign too. 

He was showing all the hallmarks of a body preparing for the last stage. In all expectation, Sam would wake less and less in the coming weeks, until finally he wouldn't wake at all. They had to be in Kansas by then, Sam laid to rest in his native lands while the last twilight of the transformation ran its relentless course. The difficulty for Dean was in judging the timing, nothing about Sam had ever been completely as expected. Dean needed to balance the risks to Sam's life if they waited too late against the problem of having to camp out in an apartment somewhere in the suburbs hoping no one noticed them if they were too early. 

So close now. So close. He continued to stroke Sam's hair, trying to memorize his features again before their long separation. Not so long in the grand scheme of things, but an eternity to the protective imperatives that still rode him. Sam would be out of touch, out of sight…

Dean closed his eyes and drew a few deep meditative breaths, then opened them and twisted his arm out of Sam's lax grasp when the rhythmic pull of Sam's mouth slacked off. Sam was barely awake, lashes fluttering as he fought sleep. Dean bent down and kissed his forehead. “It's okay.”

“You're saying that a lot,” Sam slurred.

“Because it's true.” He coaxed a vaguely cooperative Sam through drinking the rest of the water, then smoothed the covers out and lay back down beside him.

“Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up.”

“Bones?” Sam mumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes, exasperated. “I said I'd handle it, and I will. Don't worry about it. Sleep. Your body's telling you what it wants, stop fighting it.”

Sam sighed, eyes sliding shut as he went lax beneath the piled quilts. Dean stayed there for a few minutes at his side, petting gently and letting Sam fall truly under, then fetched the cloth and cleaned them both up. Afterwards he didn't bother with clothes, just took all the tubs outside to be dumped, then fished his satellite phone out from the bottom of the trunk and settled back onto the mattress at Sam's sleeping side. 

He had plans to set in motion. 

It was time.

END


End file.
